


Paper Trail

by saltandbyrne, verucasalt123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Choking, Comeplay, Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Cunnilingus, Curtain Fic, Deepthroating, Demons, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, F/M, Fight Sex, Fights, Fingerfucking, Guilt, M/M, Makeup Sex, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Post Season/Series, Post-it Notes, Postcards, Pre Season/Series, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Schmoop, Spit Kink, Stanford Era, Texting, Underage Sex, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trail of phonecalls, emails, text messages and ephemera tells the love story of Sam and Dean.  Dean tries to let Sam start his life at Stanford, struggling to keep their relationship going even as their lives move down separate paths.  When the fighting is done and Sam and Dean are retired together, curtains and all, they find a strange package that reminds them of everything they fought for and everything they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Trail

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: For the best reading experience, we highly recommend reading or downloading the pdf. [Download PDF Here](http://www.mediafire.com/download/hgb74vafk6pizqr/Paper_Trail.pdf).
> 
> However, we know many people prefer a .mobi or .epub format so we've done our best to recreate the multi-media feel of our pdf. You'll still get the story, but not all the little details of each document.
> 
> Thank you to skepticalturkey for the amazing art! It is beautiful and really captures our story. Go leave her nice comments!
> 
> We would like to thank the spn_j2_bb mods for all their hard work. We don't know how you do it! We'd also like to thank Kelly for the beta read and our friends who contributed their handwriting to this project. It takes a village to write wincest, right?
> 
> Please be warned, this story contains references to a fully consensual sexual relationship between Sam and Dean starting when Sam is a teenager.

****

**Office of Undergraduate Admission**  

Stanford University 

Montag Hall 

355 Galvez Street 

Stanford, CA 94305-6106

 

April 1, 2001

 

Dear Samuel,

 

On behalf of the Office of Undergraduate Admission, it gives me very special pleasure to offer you admission to Stanford University’s Class of 2001. Our sincerest congratulations to you!

 

You have every reason to be proud of your accomplishments, and we are honored to invite you to join the Stanford community. Since our founding in 1891, Stanford has been defined by students and faculty who endeavor to push the limits of knowledge and who share a commitment to extending that spirit of exploration and excellence beyond campus. This is a community of scholars dedicated to what Jane Stanford, co-founder of Stanford University with her husband, Leland, called “the cultivation and enlargement of the mind.” Your application showed that you have the intellectual energy, imagination and talent to flourish in this environment.

 

It is our pleasure to offer you a full scholarship, including tuition, books and housing. This decision is based on your extraordinary academic achievements and the outstanding letters of recommendation included with your application. It is also dependent on your ability to continue your intellectual pursuits and keep your scores in each class above an average of 85.

 

The exciting next step is now yours. I hope you will use the next several months to learn even more about us. We invite you to attend Admit Weekend 2001, our visit program designed to introduce you to Stanford’s intellectual vibrancy and dynamic campus life.

 

Samuel, we look forward to the unique and extraordinary contributions that you will make to our campus life. We once again extend our congratulations on your admission to Stanford and look forward to welcoming you to the Stanford family!

 

With best wishes,

 

 

Robin G. Mamlet

 

Robin G. Mamlet

Dean of Admission

 

October 20, 1997

Counseling session/evaluation for Samuel Winchester. The student is referred to as “S” in this report.

 

S was referred for an evaluation by the principal of the school. He is generally very quiet and withdrawn, but has had two violent outbursts in the past week, including one in which he injured another student.

Information concerning S's developmental progress, birth history, school history, and behavior at home was provided by his brother via a form. No problems during S's birth were reported, though his mother passed away when he was an infant due to a housefire. Major developmental milestones were reported to have been reached within normal time ranges. His older brother Dean Winchester indicated that he was very rambunctious at home and had suffered a few injuries due to roughhousing and horseplay. He also indicated on a brief behavior checklist that S can be trusted explicitly, is easily frustrated, very much enjoys academics and is exceptionally stubborn, sometimes to the point of selfishness. His brother noted that his own efforts to make sure S had anything he could give him might be related to this particular behavior. In his words, “[S] is kinda spoiled cause I don’t like to tell him no”. He also indicated that his younger brother has always been very outgoing and talkative from an early age, and constantly asks questions. It was clear in this initial meeting that in a school setting, S rarely says a single word without thinking about it first, likely because he never wants to say anything until he’s figured out the consequences of answering the question. It should be noted that the form responses from his brother indicates a very different personality than the one his teachers and I have observed. At this time, I would posit that what his brother sees in S is his true personality and that the persona he maintains at school is purposely quite different.

School records indicate that S’s father often travels for business and his emergency contact is the older brother mentioned in the above paragraph. Seemingly due to the nature of their father’s work, S has attended an average of two to three schools every school year since he was enrolled in kindergarten the year that he turned five. His grades are consistently excellent and all of his work is done on time. Despite several unexcused absences, S has no trouble keeping up with his classwork. Quite the opposite, he seems to be far ahead of his peers intellectually.

He does not make any attempt to socialize with other children in his class. His brother drops him off in front of the school in the morning and is waiting when the dismissal bell rings to drive S home. After asking his teachers for input, it seems that seeing his brother waiting for him in the parking lot is the only time they see S smile or laugh; they also indicate that on days when his brother is late to pick him up from school, S appears to be fairly agitated and concerned.

Rapport was slowly established, but he seemed to be cooperative throughout the testing session and did not do or say anything to indicate that he was referred for this meeting and had no choice but to attend. During the evaluation, S appeared to be in good health. He was dressed appropriately for the weather and displayed adequate grooming skills; his clothing was clean but clearly old and too large for his frame. He attributed this to wearing clothes that his brother grew out of, and that he didn’t mind wearing them because he knew his father didn’t have money for new clothes. He used vocabulary that was well above what would be expected for his grade level. S maintained appropriate attention and a normal activity level, and used good interpersonal and communication skills. However, the test results are believed to be invalid due to his obvious intent to answer questions very carefully and only after clearly deliberating in his mind as to how he was going to phrase his responses, as if he was trying to decide what kind of answers I wanted to hear, or which answers he thought would be acceptable. Even very basic information such as his current address was not given spontaneously. S only answered direct questions and did not volunteer any information that was not specifically requested.

 

The _Revised Children's Manifest Anxiety Scale, Second Edition (RCMAS-2)_ is a self-report instrument designed to assess the level and nature of anxiety in children and adolescents. Based on his own responses, S does not appear to be experiencing significant problems with anxiety. However, it is important to note that his pattern of responses suggests he may be only hiding his anxiety in order to seem calm. Thus, there is a chance that he is experiencing problems with anxiety or unhappiness and is attempting to cover them up. In his own words, he doesn’t “want to attract attention” to himself, so he spends his time alone, with his older brother and occasionally his father. His teachers confirmed that though his grades indicate that S has a firm grasp of the concepts being discussed, he has not ever volunteered an answer during class. Due to the visible discomfort that accompanies S to be called on to respond to a question, his teachers rarely do it.

 

He does report significant issues with his father and admits that they argue almost constantly. He feels as if he lives in his brother’s shadow and that his father “likes Dean better”. S cannot (or simply would not) cite a particular reason for this belief, only that he is sure that he is not “the kind of kid that John expected” him to be. Questions designed to encourage S to elaborate on this topic were met with no response at all.

 

S is a fourteen-year-old male student in the ninth grade who was referred, as stated earlier, due to recent behavioral issues. He readily admits to having injured the other boy involved in the most recent incident, but does not feel remorse because he genuinely believes that his actions were appropriate. When asked if he lost his temper, his response was that he never loses his temper. Again, no answers were forthcoming when I attempted to get more information from him regarding the incident.

 

Behavior rating scales completed by S's teachers indicate that he is experiencing significant problems with internalizing, externalizing, or adaptive behaviors. His brother’s responses to the same questions were completely different than those of S’s teachers. Again, this seems to point to S feeling comfortable enough with his brother to act spontaneously and show his true emotions, but this does not apply to anyone else in his life. Self-report rating scales on written questions completed by S do not indicate significant problems with self-concept, depression, or anxiety but when speaking, he relates almost everything he says back to his brother in some way. When asked to respond to any question without adding Dean to the context of his answer, his desire to keep any focus away from him led to the same silence and refusal to explain as when he was asked questions about his father and about the violent incident that led to his referral for counseling.

 

S's test results and the observations of his teachers indicate that he may have social anxiety, which would be easily explained by his frequent moves. He also directs anger toward his father due to his job requiring them to move so often. Most importantly, it seems as though S relies completely on his brother who is his caretaker when their father is away. My opinion is that S has an unhealthy attachment to his brother, likely because he is one of the very few people who are a constant in S’s life. The way he speaks of Dean indicates that S considers him to be larger than life, as if he does not have one single flaw. Generally, boys of their age (though his brother is legally an adult at age eighteen) aren’t nearly as affectionate and complimentary of their siblings.

 

Recommendations are as follows:

 

Start weekly counseling sessions to see if S will, in time, grow to be comfortable enough to express his feelings honestly and not in terms of what his family members expect from him or what he thinks is the answer I want to hear. S is much more concerned about what he “should” feel and disregards the way that he does feel.

 

Schedule a meeting with S’s father as soon as he arrives home from his business trip. Support at home is crucial to children at this age to help them develop their own ideas, form their own unique opinions and start to grow up. The parent must emphasize that he has no “favorite” child, and that he cares for S as much as he does for his older son.

 

Suggest ways for S to start interacting with people his own age and not with a sibling who is four years older. Though his intellect may make him seem more mature, he’s still a teenage boy who would do better to make friends at school than depending on his brother for everything.

 

Next report will be from interview with S’s father, John Winchester, to discuss these issues and find ways to help him connect with other children.

 

FOLLOW UP NOTES

 

  * Unable to contact S’s father after many attempts.

  * Ten days after the initial interview, S was withdrawn from this school. With his father’s permission, or with his own after he turns eighteen, I will be able to share this information with any new counselor he may speak with.




 

 

August 27, 2001 7:53-8:06

 

SAM: Hey Dean, you're not out chasing tail tonight?

 

DEAN: C'mon, Sammy, you know I like to let the tail chase me. 'Sides, not much tail worth having here. Let me guess, your math genius is reeling the girls in left and right?

 

SAM: I'm bored, it's boring here, and I'm horny and you're the only one who can make me feel better.

 

DEAN: Always did know how to make you feel better, Sammy. S'matter, forgot how to take care of yourself? Showed you how enough times.

 

SAM: Don't you want to get me off?

 

DEAN: Aw Sammy, thought I got you off good enough to last more than two weeks.

 

SAM: Feels like forever since the last time you were choking on my dick.

 

DEAN: Shit, Sammy, who taught you to talk like that? Fucking good, wasn't it, shit I thought the front desk was gonna call the cops the way you kept screaming when I got two fingers in your ass.

 

SAM: Fuck, wish you were here to do that right now. Not used to going this long without having my cock inside you somewhere.

 

DEAN: Remember that time in Flint when you fucked me up against the wall and all that plaster dust kept coming down? Want to fuck me like that, Sammy?

 

SAM: Yeah, Dean. Want it. Want you.

 

DEAN: Fuck Sammy, that was fucking hot. Couldn't fucking walk straight the next morning, remember?

 

SAM: Hell yeah I do, remember you trying to make up some excuse for why you were limping around, but it was worth it after. You remember that?

 

DEAN: Threw me on the bed right after, God, Sammy, you're so fucking hot like that. Still leaking out of me while you suck me off, hold my hips down with those huge-ass hands of yours. Sounds good, doesn't it?

 

SAM: Yeah, I - yeah, it does, it sounds good, Dean.

 

DEAN: God I miss you sucking me off like that, shit, Sammy the fucking sounds you make when I fuck your face.

 

SAM: I miss it, too. Miss the times we were alone and could sleep together, kiss each other awake in the morning...

 

DEAN: Awww, Sammy, you're gettin' all sentimental on me.

 

SAM: Can't help it sometimes, man, it's just - it's not just the sex, you know? I just miss you.

 

DEAN: Damn it, you gotta go and get all girly about shit-

 

SAM: Fuck you, I'm not - not a girl, it isn’t - sorry I can't just act like all we had was fucking.

 

DEAN: Sam, I'm not ... Jesus, Sammy, are you crying?

 

SAM: NO! No, I'm not...shut up.

 

DEAN: Sam, come on, what the fuck?

 

SAM: It doesn't even matter, okay, it's fine, I'm fine.

 

DEAN: Shit, Sammy, what is it? I didn't mean anything, you know-

 

SAM: Whatever, I have to - I gotta go, ok? Bye.

 

 

August 28, 2001

 

(650) 8:58 AM I miss you, too, Sammy, every fucking day, think about you before I go to sleep and all that girly shit. Call me?

 

(507) 10:07 AM Yes, sir. West?

 

(507) 11:42 AM Got it. ETA about 1 PM.

 

 

**Re: hi**

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 9/1/01 9:47 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Glad we got to talk a little the other night. I know it's only been a few weeks but I miss you so fucking bad, you don't even know. You probably noticed by now that I stole one of your t-shirts when I packed my stuff. If not, now I know you're gonna go through your duffle and figure out which one it was. Anyway, at first it still really smelled like you and I liked holding on to it sometimes when I was feeling lonely (shut up, jerk, you know you miss me too) but now it really doesn't smell like anything anymore.

 

I didn't think dad was gonna tell me to never come back, even though I knew he'd be mad about me leaving. I figured I could meet up with you guys on school breaks and summers and stuff. I really don't think I'd mind hunting all that much if I only had to do it sometimes, you know, like, when I didn't have school and other important stuff going on. But now everything's gone to shit, and I'm not gonna spend any time with you guys, because you're with dad and he doesn't want to see me so that means you don't get to see me either. Which blows because I have to miss you AND worry about you. At least you know I'm safe.

 

Why can't you just come here? Fuck, Dean, there's so much you could do. Lots of different kinds of work, and if you ever wanted to, you could even go back to school. There's a community college not far away, and you could transfer to a university...you could do so much more, there's all these million possibilities out there, you're smarter than anyone ever gave you credit for (yes, including me, because I'm a dick sometimes). I thought we had something real together, man, not just some teenage fooling around crush. We still could have something real, we could live together, be together, and just let dad follow his obsession like always. He would have done it with or without us when we were kids, and he'd still do it with or without us now.

 

Shit, didn't mean for this to turn into a fuckin novel. Don't be pissed off at me, all right? I'm just saying I want you here with me. I miss you and I don't know how to live without you and it's not fucking fair. And even if you are pissed, just tell me you know I didn't leave because I wanted to get away from you. Please, you have to know it wasn't that. I love you so much. Will you just think about it? At least consider the possibility of living here with me instead of in the damn car with dad? Just...I don't fuckin know, just think about it ok?

 

**Re: Re: hi**

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 9/1/01 11:47 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Yeah sure Sammy, i'll just fucking hop in the car and skip off to take fucking womens studies with you. Not like I got anything better to do, right?

 

Glad you're nice and comfy with my fucking shirt asshole, Know what I had to do with my shirt last night, Sam? Want ot know what you've been missing while you're all fucking sad and lonely in your nice dorm room? i woke up last night and Dad was so fucking sick I had to roll him over so he didn't pull a fucking Hendrix on me. I was wiping barf up with my goddam shirt while you were fucking feeling sorry for yourself. You think I' don't fucking miss you. Jesus Christ Sam do you know how fucking hard it is to be the only fucking person left when Dad starts talking about Mom and fucking crying.

 

I can't go cheer myself up with Stacy and Tina from the goddam sorority house when I'm feeling sorry for myself Sam. Bet they fall for all that senstivie shit of yours, you ever tell them that you ditched your family to be there? Bet they'd love to hear about poor little Sammy, so fucked up he had to lose his virginity to his brother. Tell her that one next time you're feeling fucking lonely.

 

You want to be wiht me Sam? How about being with your fucking family? Want me to just run off and buy us a fucking house and a fence and goddamn fucking golden retriever. Then maybe Dad could finally wrap his truck around a tree and youd finally be fucking happy.

 

Fuck you Sam

 

**Re: Re: Re: hi**

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 9/2/01 10:08 AM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Sammy, look. I'm sorry, ok? I was a little tanked last night and shit just got out of hand. Things have been really fucking hard since you left, Sam, I don't think you really get it sometimes. Dad misses you all the time, I can tell, but he won't say anything about it, stubborn fuck he is. Fuck, I miss you all the time too and I can't say shit either and shit just sucks right now. Dad's been hitting the booze really hard even for him and it feels like we keep hitting dead end after dead end. We haven't had a real case in weeks and you know how he takes that.

 

I never tried to stop you from going to school Sam, and I know you're doing what you think is right. But for me, this is life, you know? I'm good at this. I can't just walk away like you.

 

I'll try to get out west soon. Might be able to rustle something up in Reno, saw some shit in the paper this morning about some drownings. If it makes you feel better I've got a hangover worse than vegas week times three.

 

Call me, ok?

 

 

September 5, 2001 7:42 PM – 8:23 PM

 

SAM: Dean?

 

DEAN: Sam, is that you?

 

SAM: Yeah.

 

DEAN: Shit, it’s been three days, I was starting to think you weren’t gonna call.

 

SAM: I almost didn’t.

 

DEAN: I’m so sorry. Dude, seriously, I was a total fucking jackass and-

 

SAM: No, I get it.

 

DEAN: You get what?

 

SAM: You’re dealing with fucking life and death shit and I’m whining about missing you and feeling lonely, it was dumb.

 

DEAN: It wasn’t. It was not dumb, and the last thing I want is for you to feel like you can’t tell me what’s going on with you.

 

SAM: Coulda fooled me.

 

DEAN: Fuck, Sam, I said I was sorry, okay? I swear it’ll never fucking happen again. You just gotta try to understand what I’m dealing with here. Dad’s a wreck, like, I’ve never seen him this bad. I know it’s because he knows he fucked up and he can’t fix it. I’m scared shitless that he’s gonna get killed on a hunt or just drink himself to death, and I’m the only one here to try to keep it from happening. Then I get this goddamn email from you asking me to just fucking leave him to it, pack my shit and come to California when I just got done making sure he doesn’t choke to death on his own fucking puke…I lost it, ok, I just lost my temper and spewed that shit all over you and you didn’t deserve that. Not ever, and especially not when you’re trying to tell me how much you miss me. I miss you, Sammy, every fucking minute. But I can’t do what you want me to this time. You know it kills me to say no to you, but on this…I’m saying no. I’m sorry.

 

SAM: I know. And as much as I miss you, I don’t want to ask you to give up hunting. When I wrote that email, my whole attitude was ‘school is important and hunting isn’t’. Which, to me, yeah, that’s true, it’s how I feel, and I won’t apologize for it. But I shouldn’t expect you to feel the same way I do. We all made our choices. I miss you like crazy but I don’t regret coming here.

 

DEAN: And you shouldn’t. You did what was right for you. Dad knows he was wrong telling you not to come back, and that’s why he’s so bad off. I can’t leave him, not when he’s like this. But you’re right, hunting is what I want to do. No matter what, though, I was way out of line saying you’d be happy if dad died. I didn't mean it, OK?

 

SAM: That was a shitty thing to say, Dean. At the time, I thought you really meant it, you thought that I was so pissed at him that I wouldn’t care if he was dead or alive. But just like the school thing, what I wrote to you kind of made it sound like I didn’t give a fuck either way. I guess I kind of assumed you knew that wasn’t true.

 

DEAN: I did. I do. The only reason I said that shit was to be an asshole. Score one for me, I guess.

 

SAM: Both of us made mistakes here. I was being selfish and insensitive, you were just being a dick.

 

DEAN: We ok now though, Sammy?

 

SAM: Yeah. Just – let’s talk on the phone when it’s important shit instead of emailing. Or we could IM maybe.

 

DEAN: What?

 

SAM: Instant messaging – I’ll show you when you come see me.

 

DEAN: Come on, Sam, I told you, I don’t know how long-

 

SAM: Then figure it out. And yes, I’m being selfish again but don’t tell me you don’t want to be in the same room with me. The same bed. You know I’ll make it worth the trip.

 

DEAN: Cut it with the innuendo, you suck at it. And the trip would be worth it just to have a cup of coffee with you. But the other stuff…fuck, yeah, I want it. Give me a week or two to make a plan and I’ll come out there.

 

SAM: You mean it?

 

DEAN: Course I do. I won’t be able to stay long, you know how things are with me and dad, we can’t talk about this shit yet. But I’ll get us close then take a few days off.

 

SAM: So you’re not going to tell him you’re visiting me?

 

DEAN: Damn it, Sammy, don’t make it sound like that. I’m doing the best I can here, Jesus!

 

SAM: No, no, I’m sorry, I know you are, you’re the one who has to live with him, so do whatever you need to do, then come and fuck me in my dorm room.

 

DEAN: Shit, Sammy, don’t you have a roommate?

 

SAM: He’s never here. If he is, I’ll tell him to clear out because I’m expecting company.

 

DEAN: Oh yeah? And I’m expecting you to be my little slut for the whole time I’m there.

 

SAM: No arguments here. Look, I know we still have a lot of shit to work out. This isn’t ideal for any of us but let’s just try to make the best of it, ok?

 

DEAN: Yeah, ok Sammy. I’ll get in touch soon.

 

SAM: Dean…

 

DEAN: What’s wrong?

 

SAM: Nothing, just – I love you, jerk.

 

DEAN: Love you too, bitch.

 

 

Chapter 3 - Reunion

 

Some things just aren't worth talking about.

 

Cars, sure. Wine, women and song, definitely. Who would win in a fight, Hawkeye or Green Arrow, always. (The answer is always Green Arrow).

 

But some things? They just don't translate into any language Dean has ever understood. Sam's an ace on the books but he's no better with the linguistics of his life with Dean.

 

They've had entire conversations with a few looks, a rough hand on a shoulder the only explanation needed. Fights are the deafening silence of wall-papered hourlies and the crushing distance of two twin beds.

 

A mouth can apologize without whispering a word. Sometimes a fist banging against a door is more eloquence than Sam can stand. Dean doesn't knock, he pounds.

 

He's wearing fresh clothes but his eyes bear the ragged red of cheap coffee and twenty hours of blacktop. Sam can smell it, exhaustion smoldering under the smoke of tar and 7-11 refills and the sort of heated anger that lands people in prison.

 

Sam's growth spurts had come in painful leaps and bounds. Like the cramped motel rooms and chest-tightening fear of knowing what's bumping in the dark, even his body had betrayed him into feeling like he didn't fit. Sam knows he's got a good two inches on his brother now, but he'll never really believe it.

 

Dean does. He'd watched Sam grow with muted dread. Each inch of his brother's awkward growth had unfurled like a metric reminder that Sam was slowly running out of space for Dean in his life.

 

Dean's on him before he can take his next breath. In a life largely defined by the black and white of good and evil, Dean's affection has always occupied the blurred lines of violence and passion. Sam can feel the gray spaces washing over him as Dean backs him up. He kicks the door shut with the heel of his boot. Dean's always efficient even if his eyes are wild as he bears down on Sam.

 

Bearing, that's the word for it. Dean crowds into his space until Sam can feel the air squeezing out of him. Dean has always been more than his brother, but not for the reasons most of Sam's concerned school psychologists had posited. Dean is a force of nature.

 

The tension's thick in the air like molasses. Sam would choke on it if he could breath, if he could do anything but shiver as Dean breathes against his ear. Hot breath skates down his skin, leaving a wake of goosebumps and guilt that makes Sam's teeth clench together.

 

Dean's presence feels heavy even when he's absent. Most nights Sam feels it like a phantom trace along his neck, a sidelong look to tell a joke to someone he had to leave behind. He'll never know how to say it, but he never felt like he was leaving because no matter where he goes, Dean will always be there.

 

There's a leg between his knees, patched denim side-swiping his legs apart until Sam stands eye-to-eye with his brother. Dean has gold flecks in his eyes that seem brighter when he's angry.

 

Sam's eyes sparkle, too, but with something different. Dean can see it, that glossy wet that Sam always gets when he's conflicted.

 

“Fight or fuck?” Dean used to say. He'd throw an easy swing at Sam and cock an eyebrow as he ducked it. They'd tussle and fall into bed, ignoring wrenched shoulders and twisted elbows for the clash of lips and teeth that passed for kissing.

 

Some things never really change.

 

The cheap aluminum frame of his roommate's Jefferson Starship poster digs into Sam's back. He wouldn't put it past Dean to have done it on purpose. Closer and closer, inch by inch Dean presses him back. His hands bracket Sam's shoulders and leave matte fingerprints on the shiny plastic covering Paul Kantner's face.

 

Dean has always savored these moments. Even after they'd mapped out the tense space of how to touch each other, the silent cues and gestures that wordlessly toed the line of right and wrong, there was always this. The heavy air between them, charged and thick with the promise of something more. It is this familiar twilight of violence that makes Dean's body sing with illicit adrenaline as he leans in.

 

That last inch of space between them closes like a challenge. Sam holds it, letting his eyes slide closed as he feels the heat of Dean's lips ghosting over his own. A worry-bitten tag of skin catches against Sam's lips, dragging the curve of his mouth up as Dean lets out a soft growl. Dean always chews his lips to shit when he's angry.

 

Like Dean's the only one who's angry. Sam's eyes fly open as his hands bruise into the ladder of Dean's ribs, desperate to hold him close and push him away. He settles on the latter, knowing full well that he'll get it back twice as good.

 

Dean's teeth click against his as he struggles to stay upright. Sam shoves as hard as he can. There's no use holding back with Dean, not that he'd want to.

 

Sam can't see it as his brother flies back, but Dean smiles.

 

Dean lands hard against the edge of Sam's desk, taking out a cup full of pens and half of Sam's econ notes. The crappy desk chair Sam had salvaged on senior moving day is still spinning as Dean pushes off and lunges.

 

That's one of the things they don't tell you. A full scholarship sounds like a golden ticket out, but the free ride starts to get a lot rougher when you don't have the easy pavement of parents to buy you things like linens and desk lamps. Sam had spent his childhood chasing monsters and teaching himself math in the backseat of the car, but he'd never worked so hard to provide for himself. He'd sworn off the hustle and flow that had kept his father afloat and gotten any job he could get his hands on.

 

Sam had paid hard cash for the desk lamp that Dean bats aside as he surges to his feet. Sam feels an empty rush of righteous anger as he flexes his hand. At least Sam's things were his. Dean had paid for the clothes on his back with two parts bar hustle and one part credit fraud.

 

Sam's ready for it as Dean staggers forward. There's not a move either can make that won't be instantly recognized. He grunts when Dean cuts him off at the waist, but it's not with surprise. It's relief.

 

A hairpin turn has Sam landing on the ground. His head knocks against the floor as Dean tumbles on top of him. His hips grind forward as his fist slides back, cocked and ready like always.

 

It's a real punch, straight from the waist and followed through with the wood-thudding weight of Dean's wordless accusations. Sam reels as his lip swells up. Blood flowers in his mouth, red petals unfurling as he feels the copper thrill of Dean on top of him ride over the snarl of emotions in his chest.

 

His smile is tinged red like a feral thing, and Dean runs hot at the sight of it.

 

A good jab to the ribs has Dean canting backwards, his breath knocked out of him as he grips his fingers into the worn cotton of Sam's shirt. Sam gets a knee into something painful and rolls Dean off him. They both hit their sides with a thud, chest-to-back on the unforgiving laminate floor.

 

They're both hard.

 

Dean's arm circles around Sam's neck, the crook of his elbow pressing into Sam's windpipe hard enough to make him wheeze. Dean's always had a tight grip. Sam drives an elbow back into the first spot he can find, earning him a grunt but no relief.

 

Sam's vision starts to tinge to gray, stray stars dancing in front of him as Dean chokes him out. Sam laughs, a little giddy, a little furious as he remembers Dean's first fumbling attempts to explain what an orgasm felt like. Sam had been 11, waking up with a set of wet shorts and a mountain of confusion.

 

Dean had rolled his eyes. “It's just jizz, Sammy.” Sam's answering blank stare had made Dean laugh.

 

“Shit, Sammy, you've never, like, jerked off?” Dean had thrown up an exasperated set of hands at Sam's suspicious expression and explained the basic outline of masturbating.

 

“So it feels good?” Sam had asked, guarded for all his mysterious excitement at hearing Dean talk about things like that. This had prank written all over it and Sam wasn't falling for it.

 

“You are such a spazz.” Dean had thrown something at him, probably a sock, and cradled his hands behind his head the way he always did when he was lecturing Sam on something important.

 

“Yeah, it feels good. That's why everyone does it.” Dean had sighed and scratched his head, searching for his words. “It's sort of like, when someone's choking you, and everything gets tighter and tighter and then they let go, and you can breathe and that's all you can feel, is just how _good_ that feels, like there's nothing else and it's just...”

 

Dean hadn't liked the way Sam was looking at him. More precisely, he didn't like the way it made him feel. He knew it was his job to explain these things to Sam. It's not like their father could do it. But there had been a taste in Dean's mouth that had made him look away from Sam's wide eyes and shrug his shoulders.

 

“Whatever, dorkus, just try it for yourself.”

 

And Sam had tried. He'd stared in the mirror at his own purpling face, one hand digging into the pale skin of his neck with the other disappeared into the Y of his briefs.

 

Dean hadn't lied to him. It felt great.

 

And it still does, sharper now for all the jagged edges between them. As Dean's arm bends tighter, Sam rocks back against him. His laugh is choked and wet but it still feels like a win as he grinds against Dean's crotch.

 

Dean growls as Sam writhes against him. He's not thinking about Sam's nascent sexuality. He's remembering a small room in Tucson, with aqua velveteen wallpaper and a formica coffee table with generations of coke-line razor scratches dulling the surface.

 

After three days alone they'd been ripe with each other and drunk off the false freedom of their absent father. Dean had pushed back against every one of Sam's whispered suggestions with one of his own, upping the ante at every turn. Everything was a competition. No matter what came in between they were brothers first and brothers last.

 

Dean hadn't been able to see his reflection in the marred coffee table. He hadn't noticed it, not with the sight of his hands closed around Sam's neck. Sam had come hard and quick, pulsing hot over the grooved tracks of the table. Later they'd laughed and eaten dinner off of it, but it had scared Dean, that brief moment when Sam had seized around him and choked out that mix of panic and pleasure. Dean had killed monsters with his bare hands but he'd never felt power like that.

 

Sam sounds the same now.

 

Dean can see the purpling tips of Sam's ears. His fingers scratch against the green plaid of Dean's shirt, torquing the material to dig into Dean's skin. His legs kick fruitlessly against the floor, socked feet shoving aside the detritus of his desk. Dean can see the bulge in Sam's baggy jeans, stretching taut with each twist of his hips.

 

He releases an inch of his hold, ready to flip Sam onto his stomach and keep making up his plan from there. But Sam's still sharp despite his desertion, and he reacts before Dean even has a chance to grab his shoulders.

 

Dean turns just in time for Sam's backwards head-butt to catch him square across the eye. Their heads knock together with a dull thud while they both see stars. Sam's clear up first as he staggers to his knees, gulping in air and bracing himself on the flimsy footboard of his bed.

 

With a string of guttural curses, Dean brings his hand to his face and brings it back streaked red. His cheek and eyebrow bear a matched set of ruddy abrasions. Sam always hits hard.

 

“Dirty trick.” Dean wipes his hand on his shirt before he struggles to his feet. “Always fought like a little bitch, you know that, Sammy?”

 

Sam's forward charge knocks out whatever breath Dean has left. It's Dean's turn to feel the bite of a frame against his shoulder blade. It's Bob Marley this time. Sam's roommate is delightfully predictable in a way Sam won't appreciate until he's much older.

 

“Fuck you, Dean.” Sam's voice sounds brittle around the edges. He sucks his lip into his mouth, tasting copper as he scrapes his teeth over a crust of blood. His throat hurts when he swallows, and it shames him to feel how hard he is because of it as he molds himself to Dean.

 

“Yeah, fuck you, too, Sam.” Dean's teeth are always so white, impossibly white for a life littered with crumpled coffee cups and questionable oral hygiene. His lips draw back as he breathes through his teeth, air whistling between them.

 

Sam gives one last shove, slamming Dean against the wall with whatever he's got left. It's not much. He balls his fists in the worn fabric of Dean's shirt, so much softer than his second-hand sheets and so much more like home.

 

It tastes like blood and stale anger when they kiss. It's messy and loud and less violent than a thrown fist only because the fight has seeped out into the cuts and bruises marking it as finished. They'll heal in time, knit back together like a silent apology they can both finally accept.

 

That's not to say they're soft, or gentle, or careful with each other. Dean coaxes a fresh trickle of blood from Sam's mouth as he kisses him back. He'll never admit it but he likes the taste, that wet penny tang. No one else gets to kiss Sam like this.

 

Dean always dresses like he might have to make do with the clothes on his back for two weeks. Sam knows why, but he still growls with frustration as he tugs Dean's shirts out of his waistband. The cotton's soft but Dean's skin is warm, and Sam's hands seek it out like a moth with a flame.

 

Touching Sam is always like playing with fire. Dean tugs at the hem of Sam's t-shirt, trying to peel it off but unwilling to stop kissing him. He settles on bunching it up under Sam's armpits, content to graze his hands over the smooth skin of Sam's back. His nails dig in and make Sam hiss, and it sounds a million times better the second time he does it.

 

Sam leans his shoulders back and his hips forward, leg twitching as he grinds them together. His face is red, flushed crimson at his cheeks and paling out to the bitten pink of his lips. Sam is hot when he's angry but he's gorgeous when he's turned on.

 

Their fingers tangle together over the line of buttons separating skin from skin. Dean watches one fly as Sam pulls and lets him rip the rest off. Dean can buy another shirt, but this time with Sam is fleeting and priceless.

 

Dean's hand catches in the cuff of his shirt as he tugs it off. He groans into Sam's mouth and tugs harder, jamming his shoulder into the poster behind him. Sam barely leaves him room to move as he pulls Dean's tank top up over his head, taking his own off like an afterthought. They land in a pile of cotton that Sam doesn't bother to kick out of the way. He just steps on it as he presses his bare chest flush with Dean's.

 

Sam read a book for one of his classes, probably a psychology one, about the orphans in Eastern Europe who never got held as babies. They all exhibited sociopathic tendencies when they grew up. Apparently children need physical contact as much as they need food and shelter.

 

The warm expanse of Dean's chest is Sam's first sense memory. It's tangled in with the powdered detergent smell of him, faint chlorine wrung damp with the heat of his body. They'd slept together out of necessity, in one form or another, for most of their lives. Sam's roommate had bitched endlessly about the twin beds in their room. Sam secretly thought it felt huge without the warm bulkhead of his brother to chase away the cool night air.

 

And Dean is warm, radiant with it like he could light Sam up. The spark of his anger coils down his spine to settle in his stomach, an ember stoked into some deeper need.

 

Dean kisses back harder now, rolling his back off the wall to jut his hips against Sam's. Warmed by the fight and flush with it, even the buckles and buttons and zippers separating them feel hot under their hands. Flesh meets flesh as their fingers lace together, knees tangled in a knot of forgotten denim.

 

In a life that will be consumed by death, it is these small moments of ecstatic stillness that the Winchesters will treasure the most. There might be a name whispered while it happens, a soft sigh against a bruised shoulder or a tangle of sweat-ridden hair, but none of that matters. It is the airless clarity of these fleeting, precious brushes with his brother's soul that he will remember before he dies.

 

Hard and slippery like the glass slides Sam has learned to fix and stain for his biology class, they press together until each breath is swallowed whole, stuck together in the vacuum of one another. Sam's knees ache with the angle of keeping them together until they're finished, and he'll welcome the burn on Monday as he wakes up alone in his too-big bed.

 

Dean will mutter about the mess and roll his eyes as he commandeers Sam's t-shirt for cleanup. Sam won't notice that it's missing for a week, and when he does he'll smile. Dean will stagger back from a messy hunt, sore and cursing the sadistic deity that set him on the path of the ghost of a child witch. He'll curl up in a twin bed and fall asleep thinking that the bed feels a little less empty with the stiff cotton pressed against his cheek.

 

All that and more will happen, but what matters right now is the soft sweep of Dean's hand as it pushes Sam's hair back. His eyes are bright, still smoldering with something dangerous, but Sam knows it's the good kind of wicked that will make him smile.

 

“Sammy.” Dean cracks his neck and smirks his most charming grin, managing to look impossibly handsome even with the black eye blooming over his face. “Please tell me your cafeteria serves cheeseburgers.”

 

 

October 5, 2001

 

650 4:21 PM you left something here last weekend

 

507 4:21 PM load of jizz in your ass?

 

650 4:22 PM mmmm, yeah, except the part you licked out. you also left your shirt, the gray one that used to be black

 

507 4:24 PM i liked that shirt! stop stealing my shit, bitch. and stop talking dirty, i’m in the car

 

650 4:25 PM you shouldn’t text while you’re driving. oh wait are you not driving? are you in the passenger seat?

 

507 4:25 PM Dad’s driving, asshat. you think i’m retarted? i wouldn’t do that to my baby

 

650 4:26 PM awww, maybe i shouldn’t tell you that this shirt is too fucking tight on me. you can see all this skin between my jeans and the bottom of the shirt

 

507 4:27 PM yeah? can you see that little trail of hair?

 

650 4: 27 PM yeah, can see a lot more now that i lost the jeans. just wanted to get a hand on my cock, you understand

 

507 4:28 PM asshole. wtf is wrong with you? but seriously you’re not wearing anything else?

 

650 4:29 PM nope, just this shirt that still smells like you, i think it might have some jizz on it. my dick is so fuckin hard, Dean

 

507 4:29 PM fuck, fuck, fuck you so mcuh. gonna get me fucking hard thinking about how you got that shirt all messy. didn’t swallow it all did you?

 

507 4:30 PM i’m fucking hard now ASSHOLE

 

650 4:30 PM hell no, figured I’d save some. damn this feels good, jerking off and being able to smell your come, it’s almost like you’re here getting me off

 

507 4:31 PM jesus christ Sammy. i’m in the car with DAD. don’t say shit like that when i can’t fucking do anything about it

 

507 4:31 PM FUCK

 

507 4:31 PM put my shirt in your mouth Sammy, suck it out. dare you

 

650 4:32 PM already did. tastes so fuckin good, wish it was your cock leaking in my mouth. oh i shouldn’t talk about your cock in my mouth when you’re riding with dad, i guess

 

507 4:33 PM holy shit sam, fuck. you are so fucked. jesus i wish you were here. my cock is fucking leaking. Thanks

 

650 4:35 PM shit i almost came all over my phone. man, i feel a whole lot better after rubbing one out. just like, relief, y’know? it’s nice

 

507 4:35 PM FUCK YOU SAMMY

 

650 4:36 PM awww don’t be mad, maybe you can get dad to pull over for a pit stop. Haha

 

507 4:36 PM i will get you for this bitch

**Re: What's up, kiddo?**

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:38 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Just rolled out of Sarasota. Fucking hate Florida, what the fuck is wrong with everyone here? The real people are weirder than the goddamn supes. That lead I told you about ended up being nothing, but we found a few slat and burns to hit up. Heading up to Akron now, some kind of poltergeist sounding thing in a diner. I'm thinking free pie?

How's my college boy doing? Drowning in coed pussy yet?

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:46 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Freeeeeeeee pie, that is awesome.

Not as awesome as coed pussy, though.

Maybe i had a few tequila shots

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:53 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Oh yeah? You never could hold your liquor, Sammy.

So my little bro's getting some? come on, dude, fess up. You finally make some college girl's night?What'd she look like?

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:59 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Whatever. Just some girl from a party down the hall. You wouldnt liked her, she had lots of colors in her hair, I know you hate that. And those high boots, shiny ones, with the like million shoelace holes in them? You know what Im talking about. Those tall shiny boots with the shoelaces. But not high heels. She had those.

And tequila. she had that too

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:08 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Sammy, have I taught you nothing? Girls with more than two colors in their hair always equal trouble! Seriously, one minute they'll be talking about sucking your dick and the next they're yelling at you and crying about their stepfathers.

Docs, drunkface? Bet those boots were a bitch to get off. What with the tequila and you being an awkward sasquatch and all. Or did you just sit around and talk about your feelings all night? Bet she loved your sensitive bitchface routine.

Fucking Florida, there's like a million goddamn mosquitoes everywhere. Don't think Dad's making it home tonight so i'm fucking stuck here. C'mon Sammy, tell me about Courtney Love Jr and her stupid hair. I'm bored.

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:12 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Fuck you Dean, we werent talking about our FEELINGS. Or stepfathers (dude gross). Or mosquitoes. Poor baby.

How bored are you that you want to hear the details of the one single piece of snatch I had since I been here? Bet you get plenty of action.

And the boots looked too hard to get off so I left them on. She had a skirt, so, you know. Anyway, she probably didn't think I was very sensitive haha

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:16 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Shit, Sammy, you fucked some girl with her boots on, I am definitely bored enough to hear about that shit. And this room has the magic fingers bed, dude. At least give me something good to think about if you're not here, fucker. And I get plenty, assface, but, dude, Florida. Gross. Man's gotta have standards.

Tell me what you did to her, Sammy. Kinky little bitch, did you even take her shirt off or did you just fuck her with all her clothes on. You must have had her pretty wet if she let you do it without taking her skirt off. Always were good with your hands, weren't you? Hope you got her off first, Sammy, Winchester code.

I bet she had long hair. Bet she was pretty, some nice girl despite the stupid hair color. You always liked the charity cases. And i'm sure you were plenty sensitive. Nothing melts them like the puppy eyes, right?

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:19 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Incorrect Dean, apparently nothing melts them like when I hike up their skirt, get on the floor and eat their pussy til they scream. You know how easy it is when they dont even wear anything under their skirt? She was tiny, too so after she got done hyperventilating from my gold medal pussy eating skills, I just picked her up and sat on the bed and put her down on my lap. Fucked her just like that, didn't need to take her clothes off. Didn’t seem to mind tasting her pussy all over my face either.

And she did have long hair, long enough for me to hold onto while I was bouncing her on my cock but I don't think she was YOUR definition of a nice girl or she wouldnt have been fucking some strange dude with all her clothes still on.

And all my clothes still on. She might not have noticed the puppy eyes, with her being distratced by my awesome dick and all

Yeah yeah, you know Im good with my hands Dean, better than your magic fingers bed anyway...talk about standards.

Dude, are you getting off on this? You totally are.

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:24 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Fuck, Sammy, no wonder you ran away to school if they've got girls like that roaming around. What was her name, anyway?

Bet she looked good, skirt all hiked up while you went down on her. Taught you good, didn't I? Did you finger her open or did you just let her sink down all tight and wet. You always liked it like that. Wish I could have seen what she looked like on your lap, tiny little thing on that big dick of yours. Fuck, that's hot.

She liked it when you pulled her hair, didn't she? You always were a fucking hair-puller, why do think I always keep mine so short. If I had pretty girl-hair like you that shit would be ripped out in a week.

Fine, I might be getting off a little, who can blame me? i'm not the one surrounded by coed pussy, am I? Wish you and your magic fingers were here, shit, I'd even let you pull my hair, Sammy. Shit, i'm all fucking hard now. Totally your fault, bitchface.

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:29 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Fuck you, jerk, I'm hard now too. Whole fucking thing sounds a lot hotter when you say it. You know exactly what to say, or do, or, I don't know, whatever, just now I wish I was with you. You could lick the pussy taste right out of my mouth. And she was wet enough to take it, I probably should have fingered her open some but I think she liked it - liked that it hurt when I sat her down on my cock, hurt when I pulled her hair.

 

And how the fuck should I know what her name was? I didnt ask, its not like I was gonna call her tomorrow or anything.

 

I don't think theres a lot of girls like that here. Maybe I just havent been looking. Too busy thinking about you getting my dick all wet so I can shove it into you, put you on my fuckin lap. God, you're such an asshole. I know you're touching it. You wish it was me. I don't care how short your hair is, I pull it anyway and you fuckin like it, don't lie, fucker

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:36 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Sammy, Sammy, you little slut. You didn't even get her name. Fuck that's hot, fucked up but it's still hot, shit. Guess we won't be able to look her up the next time I come visit you.

 

Fuck, wish you were here too, talking all that shit about eating pussy, fuck, Sammy, I could put your mouth to some good use right now. I'm all fucking wet just thinking about it. Suck me off while you finger me open, those freakazoid fingers of yours are good for something, aren't they?

 

Gonna have to work pretty hard to get me in your lap, asshole. I'll put up more of a fight than wahts her face.

 

Just squeezed this fat drop of prejizz onto my thumb. Bet you could lick that pretty good too, couldn;t you?

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:42 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

Hell yeah I would, wish I could right now but I think you should lick it instead (even though I know you already have)

 

Yeah, you keep telling yourself about putting up a fight. I've gotten you into my lap with nothing but those sweet little puppy eyes you're always making fun of. Don't kid yourself, Dean.

 

And now you gotta call me a slut and talk about your leaking cock, you bastard, I'm almost ready to come again, fuck

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:49 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Do it, Sammy. Put a hand on yourself and pretend its me. I'm so fucking close just thinking about it, Jesus, want to come while you're inside me, come all over your chest and lick it off while you fuck me.

Fuck, Sammy. Want you to come and then I'll get you hard again, never took you long once I start sucking on your nipples. Bite them just a little, lick my way down your chest until I can suck you off. Jerk myself off while I make you come for me again. Shit Sammy you can pull my hair as hard as you fucking want, fuck my face till there's spit everywhere and I'm choking on it the way you like.

 

I'll even keep my boots on if you want

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:57 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

God fuck

 

damn it 3000 miles away and you can still make me jizz all over myself just thinking about you licking it off my chest while i fuck you right through the damn mattress

 

jesus christ

 

you're coming to see me soon right?

 

From: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 10/18/01 11:05 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Aww, you miss me you big girl? Fine, I miss you too. There's a nice big wet spot next to me that you should be sleeping in.

 

yeah, I'll get out as soon as I can. It's just, you know, with Dad and stuff, I just need to find a reason, ok? Let me wrap this shit in Ohio up and i'll see what I can do.

 

Miss you, fuckface

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 11:11 PM

To: [killmeister669@aol.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

 

As soon as you can. I'm passing out. But when you get here, don't forget this

 

you WILL leave your boots on

 

i WILL fuck your face until you choke and gag on my cock

 

we WILL NOT be looking up any other girls while youre in town, you ridiculous asshole

 

And yes, I do miss you, jerk. Work something out and get here.

 

 

Re: Look at this

 

From: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 11/12/01 10:01 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Hey Sammy, guess what room I'm in?

 

[picture of hole in the wall] 

 

 

Looks like they never got a chance to paint.

 

What's the word in the library tonight nerdface?

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 10:13 PM

To: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:bonscottbon@hotmail.com)

 

I'm not in the library, jerk.

 

And what the fuck? Are you serious? Not that place in Tennessee where I finally talked you into the whole ass-fingering thing the first time?

 

From: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 11/12/01 10:01 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

 

Good to know that big old brain of yours is good for remembering something other than book learnin kiddo. Yep, same room I popped your finger cherry in. I think it's the same cover on the bed too.

 

Dads off on a lead again. Looks like it might be something good. Waiting for him to call. Might go look for some bars tomorrow, try to hustle up some cash.

 

Sounds familiar, right? Wish I was stuck in this room with you again, I'd be up in that sweet little ass in no time. Think I could still get you off without touching your dick?

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:46 PM

To: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:bonscottbon@hotmail.com)

 

You did TOO touch my dick to get me off, fucker. What fantasy world are you living in? Do you even remember what you used for makeshift lube, so careful _not to hurt your little Sammy_?

 

And don't talk to me about Dad when we're talking about sex, what the hell is wrong with you?

 

From: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 11/12/01 10:01 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Aww don't get all bitchy Sammy. It's not my fault you jizzed all over yourself the first time I got two fingers in your ass. Well it was kind of my fault cause I'm just awesome like that, but I can't help it, can I?

 

Christ that was fucking hot the way you used to do that. Remember the first time I got you to suck my dick? You came in your fucking underoos just like that, you little perv.

 

They've still got those same little bottles of lotion. I sweet talked the girl up front into giving me a few extra, just for old times sake. Maybe I'll bring some next time I swing by.

 

Shit this room makes me fucking horny. You were so tight, Sammy, kept begging me for more. Bet I could get you to beg like that again if you were here.

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:46 PM

To: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:bonscottbon@hotmail.com)

 

Fuck you, I was 13 for chrissake, of course I was begging. I had a stiffy every time the fuckin wind blew. You gettin your hands all over me just made me more 13 than I already was.

 

Thirteen? Christ, dude, who are you calling a fuckin' perv?

 

And you wasted your time, dumbass, it was the damn conditioner in the shower that you used for lube, not the lotion. But, you know, if you feel like you need some skin moisturizing, don't let me stop you. The girl at the counter probably thinks you're getting yourself off in there now, ha!

 

I will give you the time I came in my pants the first time I sucked your cock, you had been teasing me for like an hour and you made me wait fucking months to do it so shut the fuck up.

 

Jesus, I wish I was there too. Can't tell you which one of us would be begging, though.

 

From: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 11/12/01 10:01 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

It was totally the lotion! You were just too dick-drunk to notice. You always get kind of loopy after you suck me off Sammy. It's adorable.

 

I remember when you were 13, that's before you got your period and got all goddamn bitchy with your PMS. hope the motrins been helping.

 

Girl at the counter can think whatever the fuck she wants. And she'll probably be right by the end of the night, shit, I'm half hard right now just thinking about what sloppy fucking head you used to give. You'd get so fucking into it, Sammy, just close your eyes and suck me down till you had spit and prejizz running down your chin like a fucking fountain.

 

You'd always jerk yourself off while you did it and that always made me so goddamn hot, how you'd start jacking yourself and sucking it at the same time. Used to close my eyes and pretend I was fucking you, Sammy, making you shake like that even when I knew I wasn't supposed to be thinking about it. Wouldve started sooner if I knew you'd like it So much,

 

Fuck I was standing right next to the bed I'm on right now, had you down on your knobby ass knees. And you wouldn't touch yourself, kept shoving my hand away when I tried to jerk you off all night. You knew, didn't you, that I'd give in, you wre always a sneaky fuck like that. Saved it so you could come while I fingered your tight little asshole didn't you?

 

Well shit I'm not letting all this perfectly good lotion go to waste. And you'd totally be the one begging bitch, maybe if I'm feeling nice I'll come in your face after I moisturize.

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:46 PM

To: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:bonscottbon@hotmail.com)

 

It was the conditioner. I remember you going into the bathroom to get it out of the shower, and bossing me to stay still, not move. Like I was going to move once I finally fucking convinced you to get your fingers in my ass. Maybe if I'd told you I already did it to myself it wouldn't have taken so long.

 

Bet you are getting yourself off, I know I am. Remembering those sloppy spitty messy fucking blowjobs I used to give you its probably enough to make you come in two minutes. I was so fucking desperate to get your cock in my mouth, I know I used to ask all the time, give you the pouty face and puppy eyes, that extra little 'pleeeease, Dean' just 'cause I knew you couldn't resist.

 

No way I could help jacking my own dick, got me so hard feeling your big dick pushing against my throat. Oh, you tried, didn't you? Didn't want to shove into my mouth 'cause I was so young, didn't want to hurt me but you couldn't help it.

 

And if you were here, I'd want you to come all over my face, get jizz in my hair and on my eyelashes and mouth. I'd lick it all clean, too. Make you want to head west anytime soon?

 

From: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:killmeister669@aol.com)

Sent: 11/12/01 10:01 PM

To: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

 

Jesus fuck, Sammy. Yeah, you used to do it to yourself? Get your fingers all wet and work them in, fuck yourself in the bathroom while you thought about me, Sammy? God that's hot, shit. Now I just wanna watch you, see you on your stomach with that big cock denting this shitty mattress, lotion or hair crap or whatever the fuck it was on your fingers. Open yourself up for me while I sit back and watch you.

 

God Sammy I always loved watching you. You're so fucking hot Sam, fuck, you always have been. You were so fucking little but God, the way you looked at me, never could say no. Shit Sam I never wanted to say no, just felt like I should. I was always scared I was gonna break you, I mean, shit, I had to punch a fucking hole in the wall to keep myself from screaming when you pulled that fucking deepthroat shit on me. Scared the shit out of me, you know. Felt so fucking good though, Jesus,

 

I'm so hard, Sammy. Wish you were here so fucking bad. It's been a while, too, bet I'd have plenty left for you to swallow after I blow it all over your face.

 

You still fuck me up Sammy. I'd get in the fucking car right now with a fucking boner and drive there if I could.

 

From: [swinchest@stanford.edu](mailto:swinchest@stanford.edu)

Sent: 10/18/01 9:46 PM

To: [bonscottbon@hotmail.com](mailto:bonscottbon@hotmail.com)

 

Get in the car, then, Dean. Figure it out, find a way, just fucking do it. You're a grown man, you can go where you want. You can drive right here and I'll let you watch me finger my own ass open for you, you know I will.

 

Guess I never told you how fucking turned on I got when you punched that hole in the wall, huh? I always knew you thought you should be saying no, but you didn't, did you? Didn't say no then, so why say no now?

 

Wait if you want until Dad gets back, if you have to, but you have the car keys, right? Tell him whatever you have to, just get the motherfuck out here, Dean. I don't wanna leave you another nasty voice mail message like I did before. These girls are good but they're not you. Sleep on it, call me in the morning.

 

Fucking love you, asshole.

 

 

December 1, 2001

 

DEAN: Hey, what’s goin’ on, Sammy?

 

SAM: Nothin big. Studying all the fuckin time. No money for beer, guess I shouldn’t be drinking anyway, gotta concentrate on this shit.

 

DEAN: You need money? God damn it, we had this conversation! You tell me when you need money!

 

SAM: It’s not that. I have food and everything, don’t even need a coat for once, it’s barely even cold here.

 

DEAN: I’m sending it anyway. Not a fuckin word, Sam. And I bet you’re glad about not needing a coat, you always whined your ass off about cold weather.

 

SAM: Yeah, it’s nice, not like it’s summer all the time, it just doesn’t get cold like some of the places we’ve been in winter. Duluth, remember, that year?

 

DEAN: Christ, thought my balls were gonna freeze off, hell yeah I remember that. Look, I know something’s going on, I can tell just from your voice, would you please just fuckin spill it?

 

SAM: Ugh. This shit sucks. I’m just – I’m really not happy and I miss you.

 

DEAN: Dude, is this about Christmas? Because I told you I’ll come up a couple weeks later, near my birthday. I just can’t get away right now, we talked about this shit.

 

SAM: Yeah, I know we did, and no, it’s not about Christmas or any other stupid holiday, it’s about this whole…everything.

 

DEAN: All right, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.

 

SAM: So you know before, we were emailing and had that big fight and we decided if we had something important going on we’d actually talk to each other about it?

 

DEAN: Of course I remember that. So what is it? What’s buggin’ you so bad?

 

SAM: Dean, I just…I don’t belong here.

 

DEAN: Don’t you even start with that, Sam. You belong there a hell of a lot more than you belong out here, tearing up the highway and chasing monsters. This is what you wanted, what you always wanted. Get out of the life, go to school, find something better for yourself.

 

SAM: Maybe so, but now that I’m here…you know how you said I ran away to college?

 

DEAN: Uh, no, I don’t, actually.

 

SAM: It was a while ago, and I don’t think you really even meant it like that, but I feel like that’s what I did. Like I ran away because I was afraid to do what you and dad are doing, and I thought this would be so much better.

 

DEAN: First of all, it is better, a hell of a lot better. And you didn’t run away because you were scared of something. I’ve seen you hit a black dog right in the throat with a knife from fifty feet. What you did was the scary thing. Leaving this life, going off on your own to a new place where you didn’t know anyone, doing something you knew dad would get pissed about. That took a hell of a lot of courage, Sam.

 

SAM: I’m not feeling very brave right now. What if I – you know, if I wanted to come back? Go back on the road with you and dad? Do you think he’d take me?

 

DEAN: Of course he would, but stop being such a dumbass! Jesus, Sammy, what the hell is going on here? You’re seriously thinking about leaving school? After how hard you worked to get there? Did something happen?

 

SAM: Not…no, not really…

 

DEAN: Sam, I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I want the fucking truth. Did something happen? Something bad? Did you get hurt?

 

SAM: Nothing like that, no, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…just no. I’m fine. It’s just – I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before. God, I thought the pressure to try and live up to dad’s expectations was unbearable. It’s so much worse than I ever imagined it would be. The competition, the anxiety, the cramming information into my brain every waking minute…I just think maybe I’m not really cut out for this.

 

DEAN: Dude. It’s December. Are you talking about exams?

 

SAM: Yeah. I have four next week and one of them is worth half my fucking grade for the whole semester. If I screw it up-

 

DEAN: Christ, Sammy. You had me scared to death talking about leaving school, I thought you were traumatized by some shit. You’re telling me, right now, after everything you did to make this happen, probably starting when you were a snot- nosed little fourteen year old brat, you’re gonna let a couple of tests freak you out bad enough to consider throwing in the towel? Honestly? I’m fuckin baffled here.

 

SAM: You don’t understand what it’s like, Dean!

 

DEAN: No, I don’t, I don’t have the first fucking clue what it’s like. Because I’ve never done anything as big as what you’re doing now. Yeah, I kill monsters and creep through dark woods at night, but that’s a job. We’re talking about something you’re doing for you. For your future. Something you worked your ass off for, something you did even though it was more terrifying than any fuckin poltergeist or wendigo either of us has ever seen. Now you listen to me, kid, and I’m not fucking around. You show up where I am and I’m packing your ass back to California, I swear to God. I’ve been there to see you, I’ll be back again soon, we still have everything that’s, you know, us. But I’m not letting you give up everything else you have. Not a chance in hell.

 

SAM: I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it, I guess.

 

DEAN: Well now you do. You’re not leavin’ school. No matter how much I want to have you with me all the time, I want you to have this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I miss you like crazy, dumbass, but you did the right thing and you’re gonna keep doing the right thing. Got it?

 

SAM: Like when you get all bossy, ya know.

 

DEAN: Quit trying to play it off, I can hear you sniffling, you big girl. Now blow your nose and get back to studying instead of thinking about ridiculous shit like quitting school.

 

SAM: Soon, right? You said soon, you’d be back.

 

DEAN: Next month, I told you, I’ll figure out a way, but I’ll be there in January. When I get there you can show me all the As on your report card, nerdface.

 

SAM: All right. Okay. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, I just – I guess I just got a little overwhelmed.

 

DEAN: Yeah, and you did the right thing. You called your big brother so he could set you straight.

 

SAM: Bossy again…

 

DEAN: I’ll show you bossy when I get out there, Sammy.

 

SAM: Promises, promises.

 

DEAN: You want better than that? Watch your mail in a couple of days.

 

SAM: Sending me a present?

 

DEAN: Sort of. Now, are you good? No more of this crazy talk?

 

SAM: I’m good, Dean. Thanks. Really, I mean it. Thanks for listening to me. I don’t have anyone to talk to here who really understands me.

 

DEAN: Well, that’s why God made phones. And email. And cars.

 

SAM: Since when do you believe in-

 

DEAN: Shut up and go study, Sammy. Love you, bitch.

 

SAM: Love you too, jerk.

 

January 16, 2002

 

Nest of ghouls in Branson taken out, called Singer to let him know. Getting used to the new truck. Dean stayed around long enough to be polite when we met Jim to pick it up after we ditched the old one, but he took off in the Impala as soon as he got the chance. Still wondering if the last I’ll see of her is that glimpse of taillights, if the last I’ll see of Dean is that curt nod and cold look he gave me when I handed over the keys.

 

I know he’s been to see Sam, I know they talk on the phone, he’s never hidden it from me. Never tells me what Sam’s up to, or how he’s doing, but then again, it’s not like I ever ask. Sam made his choice, and I made mine. Dean seems to think he can do what he’s always done, skate over that line between me and his brother, not having to pick a side.

 

Not that he should have to pick a side. Mary, I know I’ve said it a hundred times before, but I’m so fucking sorry. I wanted to keep our family together, what was left of it after we lost you, and I ended up ripping us all to shreds. The two of them were always close, maybe too close if you listen to other people. I still think I was imagining things when I saw the way they looked at each other.

 

He’s meeting Caleb to take out a wendigo in Oregon right now, so at least he’s not fool enough to hunt alone, but he’ll go straight to Palo Alto when he’s done. He won’t tell me about it, and I won’t ask, same as always. I was afraid I’d never see the day when Dean would be happy to hunt without me, that he just wouldn’t ever want to go off alone. But just because he’s not with me doesn’t mean he’s alone. A week from now I’ll be missing yet another one of his birthdays, and I don’t think he’ll give it a second thought.

 

The demon’s still out there, Mary, and I’m going to find him. I’ll find him and I’ll end him and you won’t be any less dead and our family won’t be any less fucked. Damn it, I’m sorry I couldn’t do any better than this.

 

 

January 24, 2002

 

650 12:08 AM happy birthday, hope you’re safe

 

507 12:16 AM in oregon but the job’s finished. got a surprise

 

650 12:18 AM you’re not in a bar on your birthday, that’s a surprise

 

507 12:20 AM am too in a bar

 

650 12:21 AM so what is it?

 

507 12:23 AM dad got a new pickup. gave me the car keys

 

650 12:25 AM fuck dean don’t tell me ur hunting alone. or dad

 

507 12:26 AM i swear i get backup when i need it, so does he, were not that dumb

 

650 12:27 AM i wasnt

 

650 12:28 AM fuck it, anyway thats awesome you have the car now

 

507 12:30 AM wonder where i should go for my first road trip?

 

650 12:31 AM if u don’t say palo alto i’ll fucking end you

 

507 12:32 AM be there in 2 days

 

Anno Satanas XXXLVI a.d. III Kal. Nov.

Asb'el son of Astoreth to Malphas son of Agares

 

 

Asb'el son of Astoreth: Tire quiero patem me a di... Malphas! My man.

 

Malphas son of Agares: Asb'el!

 

AsA: In the flesh! And I'm “Brady” now, you old crow-faced fuck. Asshole uses his last name, can you believe that? All these dicks these days have names that sound like whining little kids, Braaaa-dy, Tyyyyyy-ler, Dyl-aaaaaan. Makes you miss the old names, right? Can't complain, though, got a pretty fresh set of bones here. No impotence for this one, know what I'm sayin'?

 

MsA: Nice meat suit. What are you doing upstairs, it's been a while?

 

AsA: Yeah, you know, it took a while for that whole thing in Prague to blow over. Fucking warlocks, right?

 

MsA: Tell me about it.

 

AsA: At least you can fuck witches. Anyway, I'm working for new management now. One of those yellow-eyed motherfuckers, Azazel? Know him?

 

MsA: Snake-eyed son of a bitch with the arson problem?

 

AsA: The very one.

 

MsA: We worked together back on that Stephen and Matilda thing. Man, that was a good siege. Yeah, he was helping out with some of the civil unrest stuff, you know, wayward traveller making deals at the inn, that sort of shit. Good talker, that one.

 

AsA: Still is. They brought me in on some family detail. Not my sort of shit, normally, but I figured a chance back upstairs was worth putting up with some grudge work whispering.

 

MsA: You brokering deals?

 

AsA: Naw, more like devil on the shoulder sort of shit. You know, just a nudge here and there. This little shithead is so easy to work over, too, it's practically embarrassing. Golden-boy complex like you can't even imagine.

 

MsA: Got it. You worming your way in?

 

AsA: Mal, my man, this little fuck doesn't even have chinks in his armor. He's got fucking glory holes. You should have seen his face when his old best friend Braaaaa-dy showed up, sobbing drunk and practically pissing myself. I ask you, Mal, for real, what would you do if I showed up half-way to barfing up ectoplasm on your den?

 

MsA: Kick your ass back outside and let my brothers peck your eyes out until you came to your senses.

 

AsA: Exactly, like any sensible, self-respecting friend. Know what this asshole did? He didn't just throw me on his couch and let me sleep it off. No, no, he stayed up with me and wanted to talk. I mean, Mal, this is no joke, my friend. He put his arm around me and told me he'd always be there for me.

 

MsA: You're fucking with me.

 

AsA: I swear on the corpses of those nuns I ate back in Siracusa, he held me while I cried. Shit was fucking priceless. So, yeah, I got a pretty sweet gig up here, even if Az is always on my ass about something. Fucker's a total micro-manager.

 

MsA: What's he want the kid for?

 

AsA: Man, don't ask, don't tell. We invented that shit, right? I know what I need to know and fuck if I'm asking questions. He's got some path in mind for him, I just need to steer him a little bit to the left. And the way this little fuck walks around like the goddamn sky's gonna fall if everyone doesn't love him, it's like stealing babies from a candy store. Hardly any work at all.

 

MsA: Nice.

 

AsA: Holy shit, Mal, when was the last time you were up here?

 

MsA: Boer War, good times. Built all those camps, were you around for that?

 

AsA: Naw, I was stuck in the familiars department downstairs. I don't miss that shit, fucking cats and their goddamn attitudes, you know? But Mal, you have got to get your black-feathered ass up here. You don't even know.

 

MsA: Come on, Asb, you know I'm a family man now. I like this job. I mean, shit, I haven't had to build so many racks since the last Inquisition. Seriously, the priests alone have been keeping me so busy I can barely spend the overtime I'm making.

 

AsA: Well, shit, Mal. This is not the time to be stuck down south, trust me. It's a brave new world up here. First of all, the women. Let me tell you, I thought I'd never see anything close to that decade in Crete but Mal, my friend, it's like a fucking miracle up here. They're all total whores, Mal! All of them! And it's normal!

 

MsA: You sly old goat, you always had a way with the ladies.

 

AsA: Not like this. I mean, I used to have to whip out some serious “bride of the devil and all his legions” level promises to get two teenage girls in bed. I did that shit last night, and you know what I had to do? Buy them drinks. That's it!

 

MsA: No way.

 

AsA: Remember that old schpiel we used to have to do to get them to do it in the butt? The whole “and she shall layeth with the goat as the beasts in the field upon the abomination blah blah blah” and all that shit? They print magazine articles about it like it's a trend. I saw some crap called Cosmopolitan, had a whole spread in it called “The Do's and Don'ts of The Backdoor.” And it's not even some passed- around hard to find manuscript like in the old days, it's sold on every fucking street corner! I got this guy in Budapesth burnt at the stake just for selling woodcuts of titties the last time I was up here.

 

MsA: Holy sin, man, you must be happier than a pig in shit.

 

AsA: Mal, I'm telling you, this is the golden age of humanity. I never paid much heed to all this “New World” shit, figured those fuckers over in Sales were just yanking my chain. Who could ever top Rome, right? Wrong, motherfucker. I've got one work for you. Cocaine.

 

MsA: Vaguely remember it, isn't it like headache medicine?

 

AsA: Ha, well, dealing with humans is always a fucking headache, and this shit is just what the doctor ordered. Mal, for real, I can't even tell you. It makes the blood of a thrice-ravaged virgin taste like goat piss. If this little shithead I'm shadowing wasn't such a goddamn goody two-shoes I'd be shoving it up his nose faster than you can recite your first-year malediction. That's alright, though, I've got other tricks up my sleeve.

 

MsA: You always do, Asb.

 

AsA: Good catching up with you, Mal. Tell that beak-faced wife of yours I said hi, got it?

 

MsA: I'll be sure to never mention your name.

 

AsA: Aww, come on. She still hasn't gotten over that thing with the goat? I took all the blame for that, never say I don't take one for the team.

 

MsA: Exactly, and it'll stay that way. Good luck, Asb. And remember, if things go bad up there, I've got some connections with the builders.

 

AsA: No need to worry, amigo. I've got it all under control. Catch you later, bird-brain.

 

Terminum

 

 

 

May 3, 2002

 

507 2:02 AM Happpppy brthdy

 

507 2:03 AM HAPY BIRTDAYYYYYYY

 

507 2:03 AM Sam

 

507 2:04 AM Sammy

 

650 9:52 AM It was two in the morning when you sent those. I was asleep. You were drunk.

 

507 9:59 AM and now I’m hungover

 

650 10:02 AM good

 

507 10:05 AM sorry I missed ur birthday. meant to call earlier but by the time me & caleb got back to where we had reception it was past midnite so we just started drinking

 

650 10:06 AM totally reasonable explanation.

 

507 10:08 AM u can’t pout ur almost a grownup now

 

650 10:10 AM who taught u how to make me laugh even when I really wanna be pissed at u?

 

507 10:11 AM natural talent

 

650 10:12 AM thx. still picking me up after exams? free beach house for a whole weekend

 

507 10:13 AM u know i will. just a couple weeks

 

650 10:13 AM love u dean

 

507 10:14 AM love u birthday boy

 

 

June 11, 2002 1:52 AM – 3:34 AM

 

SAM: Dean?

 

DEAN: How's it shakin', short stuff?

 

SAM: Dean, it's like two o'clock in the morning, where are you?

 

DEAN: Backseat.

 

SAM: No, Dean, like, what state are you in?

 

DEAN: Dunno. Like, Phoenix or some shit? Desert?

 

SAM: Are you drunk?

 

DEAN: Absolutely not. I was drunk. Now I'm just mildly tipsy.

 

SAM: Jesus.

 

DEAN: I think that was the bartender's name.

 

SAM: Tell me you're not driving?

 

DEAN: Sammy! Would I endanger this perfect piece of equipment?

 

SAM: The way you talk about that car is disturbing, Dean.

 

DEAN: Was talkin' about myself, whatever. Always thought you liked my equipment, Sammy Sammy Sammy.

 

SAM: God, you're tanked.

 

DEAN: What? So I'm not allowed to call my little brother when I'm feeling … boisterous? There's some big college words for my college boy.

 

SAM: Whatever, I wasn't sleeping anyway.

 

DEAN: N'aw? Up hitting the books?

 

SAM: Uh, not, not exactly.

 

DEAN: Sammy, Sammy, Sammy... I know that voice. That's your I just got caught voice, ain't it? What're you up to?

 

SAM: Nothing, Dean.

 

DEAN: You're watching porn, aren't you?

 

SAM: Well I was until someone decided to drunk dial me.

 

DEAN: Oh, Sammy.

 

SAM: Shut up, Dean.

 

DEAN: Aw, don't get all shy on me, Sammy. Watched your first porno with me, didn't you?

 

SAM: God, what was it called?

 

DEAN: That, young grasshopper, was the original Bang Bus. Accept no substitutes.

 

SAM: Right, right. I, uh, I wasn't really watching it that closely.

 

DEAN: You were watching something closely, weren't ya?

 

SAM: Fuck, Dean...

 

DEAN: Aw, c'mon Sammy, don't act like you don't remember.

 

SAM: Course I remember, Dean, it's just...

 

DEAN: What? You got a girl in there with you?

 

SAM: No, but I have a roommate, Dean.

 

DEAN: Is he there?

 

SAM: No, of course not. You think I sit around watching porn with my roommate?

 

DEAN: We used to do it all the time.

 

SAM: That's different.

 

DEAN: Yeah it is.

 

SAM: Oh my God, Dean, you are-

 

DEAN: Miss it, Sammy. Miss sitting around and jerking off with you, how you'd always get so goddamn squirrelly for it right after Dad left. 'Member that?

 

SAM: Yeah.

 

DEAN: Look, I know … I know you weren't always happy with us, Sam, I know that, and it's okay, but we had some fun, right? I mean, there was good stuff, it's not like it was always so bad.

 

SAM: Dean, no, it wasn't... not always so bad. There was good stuff, you know, like that.

 

DEAN: Like what?

 

SAM: Gonna make me say it, aren't you? You're such a dick, Dean.

 

DEAN: What's that? Touch your dick, Dean? I'm on it, Sammy.

 

SAM: Jesus … wait are you really?

 

DEAN: Uh-huh.

 

SAM: Shit.

 

DEAN: Real dry out here, you know? Like, no moisture in the air and shit. Gonna have to spit in my hand, huh?

 

SAM: Fuck, Dean, come on...

 

DEAN: When's roomie coming back? And don't act like Bob Marley poster over there is an early riser.

 

SAM: Yeah, he'll probably be gone for a while. There's some kind of drum circle fire pit hackey sack something over at-

 

DEAN: Sammy, I don't care if he's dropping acid with Janis Joplin's wailing ghost. Just want you alone.

 

SAM: Well you got me. Gonna do something about it?

 

DEAN: Hang on. _Ptuh_. That's better. Heard that, Sammy?

 

SAM: Yeah, fuck.

 

DEAN: Just like I taught you, right? Gotta get it nice and wet first.

 

SAM: Still think about that sometimes.

 

DEAN: What do you think about, Sammy? First time I made you spit in your hand before you jerked that little cock of yours?

 

SAM: Shut up, I was thirteen.

 

DEAN: You were a kinky little bitch then just like you are now, Sammy, s'why I called you.

 

SAM: I wasn't the one spitting on my brother's dick, was I?

 

DEAN: Hey that wasn't until you were like, way, way older. You were like fifteen. And you liked it.

 

SAM: Course I did, it was fucking hot.

 

DEAN: Are you touching yourself?

 

SAM: Maybe.

 

DEAN: Bitch. Over your underwear?

 

SAM: Yeah. I'm fucking hard, Dean.

 

DEAN: Shit, Sammy. Always used to rub yourself like that. Lick your palm.

 

SAM: What?

 

DEAN: Just do it. Slow. Get it wet.

 

SAM: Kay.

 

DEAN: Yeah, just like that.

 

SAM: Fuck.

 

DEAN: Put your hand on yourself, Sammy, just like me, come on.

 

SAM: God, Dean, I wish-

 

DEAN: I know. Just like the first time, baby, just do what I tell you.

 

SAM: Feels good.

 

DEAN: Yeah, I know it does. Just hold it, remember how I showed you? With your thumb right there?

 

SAM: Yeah.

 

DEAN: That's good, Sammy. Now move it, yeah, like that. How's that feel, baby boy?

 

SAM: It's, yeah, it's good, it's just...

 

DEAN: S'matter, Sammy?

 

SAM: It's pulling, like it's, on my skin-

 

DEAN: Oh, baby, that just means you need to get it wetter.

 

SAM: Yeah?

 

DEAN: Uh-huh. Just work some spit in your mouth like - fuck, I can hear it Sammy, Jesus Christ. OK, fuck, OK just like that, baby, get your mouth good and wet and just spit down, yeah? Come on, Sammy, I want to hear it, fuck. Oh fuck Sammy yes.

 

SAM: Did it.

 

DEAN: Good boy. God, fuck, Sammy. Feel good, baby?

 

SAM: Yeah, it's good, Dean, wet and, fuck...

 

DEAN: Shit Sammy, I'm gonna come in about two seconds if you keep that shit up. Fucking wish I was there, put my fucking mouth on it, get you all wet and lick you open, fuck, Sammy, remember how I used to hold your fucking ass open and spit on your asshole till you'd beg for my mouth on you, until-

 

SSAM: Dean, Dean I'm gonna, oh God fuck fuck-

 

DEAN: Come for me, baby, that's it, so fucking good for me Sammy, wish I could fuck fuck fucking fuck shit you've gotta be fucking kidding Jesus fucking son of a - Good evening, officer, lovely night isn't –

 

 

June 11, 2002

 

507 11:04 AM Well, Mr. Kurt Kilmiester is now the proud owner of a shiny new public indecency citation and one motherfucker of a hangover.

 

650 11:07 AM sorry dude. What a bitch. Not your first one, though.

 

507 11:09 AM totally worth it Sammy. back then and now.

 

 

July 7, 2002

 

507 2:13 PM Whats the latest on the college scene, man?

 

507 2:15 PM Sam?

 

650 2:18 PM Nothing

 

507 2:19 PM Its ridiculous how you can make your bitchface show up in a text

 

650 2:21 PM Shut up

 

507 2:23 PM Dude seriously tell me whats goin on

 

650 2:24 PM I told u. Nothing

 

507 2:26 PM Youre being pissy, somethings up, dont try to bullshit me

 

650 2:28 PM Its summer Dean. So its just – well you know

 

507 2:29 PM no I dont which is why im asking

 

650 2:31 PM No one around is why nothing is happening

 

507 2:32 PM your friends all on vacations?

 

650 2:33 PM its insane I have to spell this out for you

 

507 2:35 PM sorry im too dumb to read your fucking mind

 

650 2:37 PM Everyone went home ok? Thats what people do in summer, go home til school starts back

 

507 2:38 PM Shit. Ok, I should have got that. And im sorry.

 

650 2:39 PM not your fault

 

507 2:41 PM doesnt matter, still sorry, I can tell youre sad and I dont like it

 

650 2:43 PM u cant always fix everything for me Dean. even if things werent like they are its not like I have a home to go back to anyway

 

507 2:44 PM one time u told me any place that had me in it was home for you

 

650 2:45 PM oh now youre the girly mushy one for once

 

507 2:46 PM just hate to think of u being lonely is all

 

650 2:48 PM itll be ok, got a head start on some of my work for next semester

 

507 2:50 PM nothing can make you not a giant nerd

 

650 2:51 PM suck it assface

 

507 2:52 PM would if I was there

 

650 2:53 PM I know. im ok, I swear, dont worry

 

507 2:55 PM I worry every minute youre out of my sight and you know it

 

650 2:56 PM just try then ok?

 

507 2:57 PM a week or so and I can be there, keep u company for a while

 

650 2:58 PM u dont have to

 

507 2:59 PM u don’t have to want me to

 

650 3:01 PM but I do

 

507 3:02 PM fine. call u with details in a couple days

 

650 3:03 PM thanks Dean.

 

507 3:05 PM its my job, take care of Sammy, and I got lots of ways to take care of you

 

650 3:06 PM especially when there’s no one around to hear us

 

507 3:07 PM jesus fuck. a day ok? call with details in a day. be there soon as I can.

 

650 3:08 PM love u dumbass

 

507 3:09 PM love u smartass

 

 

October 1, 2002 9:12 AM – 9:51 AM

 

SAM: Mmmmm. Morning Dean. You already awake?

 

DEAN: Morning Sammy. Oh! Yeah…very good morning…guess you woke up happy.

 

SAM: Looks like you did too.

 

DEAN: Ahhh – damn you’re frisky aren’t you?

 

SAM: Not complaining?

 

DEAN: Hell no, baby boy.

 

SAM: Aw, come on, let me brush-

 

DEAN: Shut up, since when did morning breath make a goddamn difference to us?

 

SAM: I know…

 

DEAN: Fuck, Sam, yeah, just – Christ – just like that, you know how much I love it when you do that.

 

SAM: Course I do. And I get a little taste.

 

DEAN: Jesus, that never gets any less hot, does it?

 

SAM: Nope.

 

DEAN: Save that grin, what about you?

 

SAM: Fuck oh God Dean give a guy some warning – damn it, ahhh

 

DEAN: Yeah, still all wet from last night. Or maybe earlier this morning. Whatever. Still tastes good leaking out of you.

 

SAM: Shit. Come on, please, more, please, oh fuck fuck fuck Dean!

 

DEAN: Sam. Sammy, yeah, just like – oh god, you keep jacking me so fuckin hard like that I’m gonna…

 

SAM: Gonna – ugh – gonna come all over my hand – fuck, harder Dean, please, yeah, ohhhhhhhhhhh

 

DEAN: Mmm, got that magic spot there baby boy?

 

SAM: Yes, yes, right there, oh god, gonna come Dean, you are, you – you are too, can feel it-

 

DEAN: Ah – oh shit Sam fuck fuck fuck ohhhhh

 

SAM: Damn it, Dean, yeah, come on, spread it all over me, so close…

 

DEAN: Like that?

 

SAM: Ah Dean Dean oh fuck Dean, so hot, my jizz and yours everywhere, god, yeah

 

DEAN: Breathe, baby. Breathe. There you go. Gotta say I don’t mind waking up like that.

 

SAM: Yeah, me neither. Though you know my roommate still wants to know why I have four sets of sheets for this bed.

DEAN: If you told him the truth, he’d probably have a heart attack.

 

SAM: Probably. Shut up and cuddle me, jerk.

 

DEAN: Doesn’t count as cuddling when there’s spunk all over the place, bitch.

 

SAM: Whatever gets you through the night, Dean.

 

DEAN: Oh this'll get me through the night just fine.

 

SAM: Dean you fucking recorded us? What is wrong with you? What if-

 

DEAN: Oh shut up, you're just jealous you didn't think of it first.

 

Anno Satanas XXXLVII a.d. II Non. Jan.

Asb'el son of Astoreth to Azazel son of Morningstar

 

 

Asb'el son of Astoreth: Tire quiero patem me a di...

 

_Azazel son of Morningstar: Brady. Finally. Tell me you have something to report._

 

AsA: Azazel! How you been? Uh, Sir.

 

_AsM: Unlike some of us, I've been busy directing the manifest destiny of a dozen potential candidates. I've been working tirelessly to shape the lives of the children I painstakingly sought out and fed with the blood of my veins so that the Master can roam the earth. May I presume, Brady, that you've found time in your busy schedule of whoring and drunkenness to see to one single, lowly human?_

 

AsA: I, uh, Sir, I can assure you, I have been exhausting every resource-

 

_AsM: Save it for the Devil, you lecherous worm. How are things progressing with Sam Winchester?_

 

AsA: Well, Sir, I have some good news. I finally found something sweet enough to get to him. Not like you made it easy for me, I mean, seriously, that whole soul mate thing? That had to have been us, and I will say, that is pretty fucking sick even for the boys downstairs. You know that they-

 

_AsM: It is neither your place to presume nor to understand, you limp-dick bag of sheep's entrails, but I will admit, that delicious little drop of irony was not our doing. Rumor has it the Winchesters get the deluxe shared suite upstairs, if you know what I mean. Not that either of them will ever make it there, if the incompetent excuse for help that I so graciously pulled out of a dead- end desk job doesn't completely fuck everything up._

 

AsA: No fucking up here, Sir, I can promise you that. I'm your man. Sam might have his heart set on that pretty boy hero of his, not that I can blame him, I mean, seriously, have you seen the mouth on that one? I like a good set of tits as much as the next guy, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't exactly say no to seeing a set of lips like that stretched around my-

 

_AsM: You aren't worth the noxious gases your borrowed corpse emits, Brady. Keep your thoughts about your worthless prick to yourself. Sam Winchester must love something before he loses it. If you can't find a suitable candidate-_

 

AsA: Sir, stop right there. It wasn't easy, but I found her. Her name's Jessica and she's six feet of brains and sass. She's one of those milk of human kindness types that makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit, know what I mean?

 

_AsM: Listen to me, Brady, and listen closely. If you ever cut me off again, I will roast your entrails in a pit and feed them to the ravaged souls of your earthly descendants. Know what I mean?_

 

AsA: Sir, I, uh, yes, yes Sir, I know. I apologize, Sir.

 

_AsM: Do you miss the smell of cat piss, Brady? Because I will throw your ass back to the Familiars Department so fast that bloated excuse for a head will spin._

 

AsA: Understood, Sir.

 

_AsM: Now. The girl._

 

AsA: Yes, Sir, the girl, she's, uh, well if I do say, she's perfect for our little Sammy. I mean, he'd have to be numbnuts blind not to look at her, first of all. Sets of tits like you wouldn't believe. And she's probably smarter than he is, which the self-hating little shithead won't be able to resist. Fuck if I get it, seriously, who wants a woman who's smarter than you are? Or shit, smart at all, nothing but trouble if you ask me.

 

_AsM: I suspect this precludes your fornicating with the majority of humanity._

 

AsA: What? Oh I do just fine, Azzy, trust me. Anyway, sweet little Jess is perfect in every way for Sammy-boy, although she's about nine inches of Winchester short of being his dream girl. See what I did there? But I did a little digging and let me tell you, there's a reason she's got all the boys in the yard even though she's way too tall and totally stuck-up. Dude, she didn't even blink when I laid the charm on her, which, you know, fine, it's not like I was gonna hit that anyway, I mean, we're all professionals here, but she didn't even laugh at my joke about two trannies and an elephant in a-

 

_AsM: Please get to the point, you hateful little maggot._

 

AsA: Right, right, sorry, Sir. So I did a little research because seriously, there's had to be something going on with this bitch if she had half the school chasing after her. Turns out, her great-great-great grandmother? Succubus. Bingo, motherfucker!

 

_AsM: I find that expression hateful and insulting to the she- goat that carried you to term, but I do appreciate your research. She has succubus blood? That will be most useful._

 

AsA: Fuck yeah it will. And from the girl-time bonding I dredged up from this piss-ant meatsuit's memories, she's only had one boyfriend. One! Apparently he started stalking her after she broke it off. Moved all the way to Cali to get away from him.

 

_AsM: I imagine any man who samples her charms would be irrevocably hooked, yes?_

 

AsA: That's what they say. And she has no idea, just thinks she attracts the “wrong sort of guy”. Which explains the whole ice-queen routine. Stupid bitch, if she just opened her legs she'd have half the world at her feet. She's got a fucking magic pussy at the top of those giraffe-legs of hers, and all she does is study and, ugh, it's so gross, volunteer at a homeless shelter. Like, she willingly spends her time with people who don't regularly shower and don't have money. Who the fuck does that?

 

_AsM: With company like yours, one can hardly blame her, Brady. Have you introduced them yet?_

 

AsA: I got it all planned out, boss. I'm throwing her a little birthday get-together at Casa Brady. I'll call the little tin solider and tell him I'm all sad and have a bunch of sand in my vagina, some shit like that, and he'll come right over to earn another best-buddy boyscout badge. And I haven't even told you the best part. Her birthday? Same as big brother's. So he'll probably be half-way to lonelyhearts by the time he shows up anyway.

 

_AsM: I'll admit, this sounds like a solid plan. You aren't completely useless despite your obstreperous vulgarity._

 

AsA: Come on Az, don't say I don't do good work for you. And don't believe what they tell you, bro – pimpin' ain't easy. Anywho, once six four of sadface gets a taste of that, he's done. And I do mean a taste, I got him drunk enough once to actually talk about sex and he went on some whole jag about how he always gives his “partner” an “orgasm” first. Can you imagine? And he actually said the words partner and orgasm. You see what I'm putting up with here?

 

_AsM: Yes, Brady, I can imagine most of that was lost on you. I'm glad to hear things are proceeding apace. Report back to me after this party._

 

AsA: Got it, Sir.

 

_AsM: And Brady?_

 

AsA: Yes, Sir?

 

_AsM: Listen to me closely. Do not fuck this up. I have great plans for Sam Winchester, and I would hate to see them derailed by your perpetual idiocy._

 

AsA: I'm on it, Sir. I won't let you down. The next time you hear from me Sam Winchester will be drowning in pussy until he doesn't know which way is up.

 

_AsM: That will be all, Brady._

 

_Terminum_

 

 

 

January 9, 2003 12:04 PM – 12:38 PM

 

DEAN: Hey Sammy, how’s it goin’ out there?

 

SAM: S’okay. Classes don’t seem too bad so far, lot of work, though. Finally spending all my time in the library like you always think.

 

DEAN: Ha, knew it’d happen eventually. Look, I’m gonna be out of touch for a while. Bobby sent me some info on a hunt, I’ll meet up with Caleb tomorrow, but it’s in the middle of nowhere and it’s gonna be five, six weeks, probably.

 

SAM: Shit, Dean, is this something bad? Like, worse than usual bad?

 

DEAN: It’s not, honestly, we’ve faced off against rugarus before, it’s just this one’s deep in the wilderness when it’s not feeding and it’s weird because it sounds like there might actually be two. Even if there’s not, we’ll be prepared for two, so try not to worry so much, we’ve got it covered. You know Bobby wouldn’t send us out there without all the info.

 

SAM: Yeah, I know. Just – haven’t seen you for a while and not being able to check in, you know I’m gonna be worried.

 

DEAN: I do, but I swear any chance I get, even just to send a text, I will. And the minute this thing is over, you’ll know. It’s the best I can do.

 

SAM: Okay. I know it is. And I’m gonna be up to my eyeballs in schoolwork so maybe it’ll take my mind off it a little. I don’t have to tell you to be careful.

 

DEAN: Course you don’t. Gotta get back to you, baby boy.

 

SAM: Awww, you’re makin’ me blush, Dean, gettin’ all sweet on me.

 

DEAN: Come on. Know I love you, kid. I’ll call you as soon as I can. Probably gonna miss my birthday this year, but we’ll make up for it later, I promise.

 

SAM: Yeah, all right. You know I love you too.

 

DEAN: The minute I’m done, Sammy, for real, first thing, I’ll call you.

 

SAM: I know you will. Miss you.

 

DEAN: Just be good, kiddo. I’ll be back before you know it.

 

 

February 16, 2003 1:12 PM – 1:38 PM

 

SAM: Dean! Shit, oh my God, are you all right?

 

DEAN: Yeah Sammy, little banged up but nothin’ serious.

 

SAM: Caleb?

 

DEAN: He’s fine too, kid. God, I missed you. You okay? Didn’t let this shit distract you from school or anything, right?

 

SAM: No, I – school’s fine, and…uh. I, um. I – Imetagirl.

 

DEAN: Sorry?

 

SAM: I met a girl. Jessica.

 

DEAN: Why do you sound so freaked, Sammy, I never expected you to be celibate when I can’t be around, it’s no big deal.

 

SAM: No, I didn’t – I mean, we haven’t had sex. Just, you know, dates, I guess, and stuff.

 

DEAN: Dates. Yeah. Well that’s…that’s good, Sam. Must be a nice girl if you’re taking her out and not just fucking her.

 

SAM: She is, Dean. Really nice. I’m not really sure what – I mean, I don’t know, she’s different, somehow. I feel different. About her. I can’t explain it.

 

DEAN: Not asking for an explanation, Sam. You don’t need one. You were bound to meet a nice girl eventually, fancy school like that. Just surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

 

SAM: You’re not mad? I mean, it’s not like I feel any different about you, I love you and I missed you so much. I felt guilty, kind of.

 

DEAN: Hey, none of that. She’s a nice girl and you like her, just see where it goes. You know all I ever wanted for you was a good life, for you to be happy.

 

SAM: Jesus, Dean, you make it sound like – anyway, are you gonna come out here?

 

DEAN: Sure I will. Might be a little while. I gotta go now, okay? Love you, Sam.

 

SAM: Dean? Dean, you still there?

 

12 YEARS LATER

 

“Unlock the door, jerk, I have eight bags of groceries!”

 

“I’m comin’, damn, give an old man a minute,” Dean replied, sliding around his brother and unlocking the door to their newly-purchased home so Sam could bring in the grocery bags.

 

Sam, of course, had a smart-ass retort. “Yeah, some _old man_ you were this morning…”

 

“Heh. Some things don’t ever slow down, Sammy,” Dean replied with a lewd grin. Once he got inside, though, and made it through the living room, he leaned against the kitchen doorframe. “Unfortunately, one of those things is not my fucking knee.” They’d done their best to work around it for the past two years, but finally came to the conclusion that it was time to settle in somewhere. Not somewhere underground, either. There was a younger generation inhabiting the Men of Letters’ sanctuary after learning a whole lot about the Winchester family business from Dean and Sam. It certainly expanded far out from just a family business these days; Kevin and his girl taking their place in Kansas, Garth and his wife doing their part organizing and teaming up hunters from their house in Virginia, staying close to home now that they were expecting their first baby any day.

 

“Yeah, yeah…are you gonna help me put these away or do you need to lie down a minute? I know a trip around Wegman’s is tough.” Sam liked to make his little comments but his eyes gave him away every time, worried about his brother overdoing it and ending up having to get that ligament replaced like the last doctor had threatened if Dean didn’t take it easy and keep up with his home exercise. Not only did he never want to see Dean in pain like that, but the thought of his brother being immobilized for six to eight weeks after a surgical procedure was like a nightmare. Of course, it wasn’t like Dean had any desire to go under the knife. He’d rather just admit he needed to be careful and not add another scar to the ones he already had.

 

Once Sam had figured out how damn good Dean was at cooking, he insisted on a house with the right equipment so that talent could be appreciated and expanded. After a lifetime of diner food, it was better than any trip they’d taken to Heaven having nice home-cooked meals on a regular basis.

 

“Shut it, bitch. Give me that bag with the frozen stuff, I’ll put it in the freezer,” Dean shot back, snatching one of the bags and leaning in for a quick kiss as they passed each other in the middle of the decent-sized kitchen. He hadn’t lost his touch, and he damn well knew it, even that brief little contact flushing his brother’s cheeks as he grinned knowing he could still do that to Sam after all these years.

 

“Here…awww, still stealin’ kisses from me, sweetheart?”

 

“Never stop. Now go put the rest of that food away. I gotta get this pot of chili goin’ if it’s gonna be ready by dinnertime.” Sam made himself busy organizing the pantry (even though Dean made fun of him for insisting that boxed goods and canned goods did not belong on the same shelf) and finding a spot for everything in the fridge while Dean made sure all the ingredients he’d need were accessible on the counter. Including…oh _hell yeah_ , Sam thought, looks like he’s gonna make cornbread, too.

 

Just the sight of it all threw Sam for a loop. They hadn’t been here long, and they’d had a little taste of domesticity at the bunker in Kansas, but it was nothing like this. The refrigerator was full of juice and beer and condiments and vegetables and eggs and butter. The pantry held twenty jars of different dried spices (herbs for flavoring food, not for completing spells), flour, pancake mix, cans of soup, a stack of K-cups for the fancy coffee-maker Cas had given them right before they moved in. The angel had picked up a habit of bringing them gifts on his rare and mostly unannounced visits, but usually they weren’t nearly as practical as that. Not even counting the other rooms where they had a bed and a bookshelf and a TV and a sofa and end tables and plans to eventually hang art on the walls…just the kitchen was so much more than they’d ever had all to themselves before. And it was theirs, his and Dean’s; their kitchen, their bedroom, their house. Sam didn’t think they’d ever have something like this, didn’t _allow himself_ to even hope it might be possible, after everything they’d been through over the years. But here it was, and now that they had it, they weren’t giving it up for anything. The last of their fake credit cards were being used to furnish the house and stock up the kitchen. They were both starting jobs next week; Dean at the neighborhood independent coffeehouse and Sam at the admissions office of the local community college. They were making a life, the two of them, a life together that for a while had never seemed like something they’d be able to pull off.

 

“All right, come on, everything’s put up now, can’t we just sit for a minute?” Sam gave Dean his best and brightest grin while backing him up through the kitchen doorway.

 

“Sammy. You wanna make out on the couch.”

 

“Can’t get much past you, can I?”

 

“Mmmmm, guess not…yeah, c’mere.” They tumbled gently onto the sofa, Dean sliding his fingers into Sam’s hair as they made out like teenagers for just a few minutes.

 

Sam finally fell back to take a breath. “Still pullin’ my hair, too, baby. Told you I wasn’t old enough to cut it. Fuck, Dean, you can – wait – wait, no, wait, what’s that?” he asked, looking past Dean to the other side of the couch.

 

“What?” Dean turned but not enough to see the small table behind him and the strange object sitting on it that most definitely hadn’t been there when they left for the store. The kitchen and living room were the only ones they’d finished with at this point, the spare room still a mess and their bedroom not all that much better off.

 

“On the end table, on that side of the sofa, can you-”

 

Dean moved all the way around and saw what Sam had seen, grabbed it. “Yeah, got it. It’s just a big envelope, there’s a note – oh for the love of Christ. Here, take a look.”

 

_Dean and Sam,_

_Just a few things I picked up, thought you might like to have them in your new place. When I get back from India, I’ll stop in. I mean, I’ll call first and then you’ll invite me. I think you both will be very happy here._

_-Castiel_

 

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.” They didn’t see much of Cas these days, but his visits were all unexpected and mostly pretty damn entertaining.

 

“Nope. Looks like we had a little pop-in while we were gone. Surprised he didn’t comment on the décor.” Dean wasn’t really all that surprised, though. He’d kind of given up on any kind of expectation when it came to their friend here lately, because there was just no way to know if he was going to appear long enough to shove souvenirs into their hands (he’d seemed to think Sam had a thing for snowglobes, or maybe wanted to encourage him to develop a thing for snowglobes) before disappearing again or sit down and regale them with stories of his travels for hours at a time.

 

“You mean the room full of half-unpacked boxes and that other room that we were obviously fucking in this morning?”

 

“Well, when you put it like that. Anyway, what’s in there?” Dean had tried to get a good look but his brother of course snatched the package away from him the second it was in reach.

 

“Envelopes. Little bags. Papers. What the hell?” Sam was looking through the large Tyvek-type package, just sticking his giant paw in there and moving shit around.

 

“Just move back, move over, dump it all out! I wanna see!”

 

Dean wished there was someone else around sometimes, so he could make a bet on when Sam was going to roll his eyes. He would be rich as a motherfucker. “And you call me a baby. Jesus. Here.”

 

“Oooookay…this one looks like – oh, postcards! What the hell? I sent you this one when you were at school. Remember that time you left me that filthy voicemail?”

 

“Shit, oh my God, I’d almost forgotten! It was such a long time ago, Dean, I was so young, trying so hard to prove myself to you, that I was _just fine on my own_. What a joke that was.”

 

“Hey, you were! You were okay. I know we missed each other but we managed to keep the magic going for a good while there, huh?”

 

“Hell yeah we did, especially with you sending me notes like _this_!”

 

It was a gaudy postcard, picture of some random county fair God knows where, addressed to Sam’s Stanford dorm room with Dean’s super-neat handwriting across the back.

 

 

 

“What the hell was I supposed to do, waking up in a motel 1200 miles away and checking my messages, thinking _Oh look, I missed a call from Sammy_ and then hearing you bang the life out of some chick in your dorm room?” Dean, of course, started his own version of an imitation of what he’d heard and Sam, of course, blushed bright red and threw the postcard at him.

 

“You’re a dick!” Sam tried to put a little heat behind it but it wasn’t easy with how badly he was failing at trying not to laugh his ass off.

 

“We should frame this. Seriously. Hang it over the kitchen table.”

 

Sam ignored him in favor of checking out some of the other papers they’d just uncovered. He grinned, wide and sly as he took in the sight of the next little note he found. “Oh sure, Dean. We’ll hang it right next to this one.” He handed over a rumpled yellow Post-it note.

 

“Ugh, you always did have a way of getting me all sappy and sentimental, even back then. Well, especially back then, I guess.” Dean flushed a little, probably recalling what kind of weekend debauchery they’d been getting up to when he’d left that little note in his brother’s dorm room.

 

It had been a tough time for both of them, Sam’s years at Stanford. At first they’d made things work, getting past the initial anger and awkwardness that was left in Sam’s wake when he left to go to school. They’d called, emailed, written, visited; honestly, they had both given it their best effort. It was difficult for both of them after Sam met Jess. Dean didn’t want to lose Sam, but he wanted Sam to have a shot at a normal life, maybe a wife & kids one day, the kinds of things Dean wouldn’t ever be able to give him no matter how much they loved each other.

 

Letting Sam go had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and even though they ended up back together again eventually, it was under the worst circumstances possible. Sam had loved Jessica, he truly had, but he never let go of what he felt in his heart for Dean. As happy as he and Jess were together, Sam thought he always knew, somewhere deep down inside, that he belonged with his brother. He mourned her loss terribly, and there was still a place in his heart for her. Finding out years later that it had been a setup from the beginning (not that Jessica had been aware of it, of course) only made him feel more guilt over her involvement with him leading to her tragic death. At the time, it all seemed so insurmountable, but that was only because Dean and Sam had no idea what the coming years held in store for them both. Given the circumstances, only a fool would have bet on the two of them coming out of it all still as in love and dedicated to each other as they’d been since they were teenagers.

 

Over the years, both brothers had lost so much, together and separately. They’d even lost each other a couple of times due to circumstances outside their own control (and a couple of times on purpose); lost their Dad, so many of their friends, their belief in each other, their sense of right and wrong. Sam had long since shed the religious faith that had guided him through some of the more difficult times of his younger life and Dean had given up on the universe having any sense of fairness in it at all for a long time.

 

“Okay, now this is completely insane. Where the hell…Dean, you remember Truman High?”

 

“Place we got to go back to for the possessing ghost thing? Hell yeah. Even though I hated that school, it was definitely one of our more memorable cases.”

 

Sam got a flashback memory of their trip there as adults and smiled. “Looked damn fine in those gym shorts, that’s for sure. Anyway, look at this! I can’t believe I turned in this essay!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sam Winchester

English

11/13/97

 

My Most Memorable Family Experience

 

Most kids spend their summers going away to camp or going on vacation with their families. My summers were never like that. My father, my brother, and I have gone to campsites, and we even went to a summer camp one time, but it wasn't for a vacation. It was for work. My family hunts monsters.

There are lots of kinds of monsters, and all of them are gross in one way or another. A lot of them like to eat people, and a lot of them smell really bad. Werewolves are both.

Werewolves don't really have a lot in common with real wolves. Real wolves live in packs, and they don't attack humans unless they're provoked. My dad had shown me some sketches before we went off on that hunt last summer. I was surprised that they didn't look that much like wolves, just like people with sharp teeth and crazy eyes. A lot of monsters look surprisingly human.

This werewolf was picking off the summer students at Tuskegee University. I didn't think my dad was going to take me at first. Sometimes me and my brother stay with relatives while my dad goes off on hunts. My brother says it's because he wants to keep us safe, but I think it's because we slow him down. Apparently my dad wasn't worried about that, though, because he packed up our stuff and told me I could check out the museum if we finished early.

Alabama is really hot in the summer, so hot everything sticks to you. My brother likes to act like he's immune to things like that, but he gets irritable if he's hot for too long. We stopped at a motel on the way there and he hugged the AC for twenty minutes before he surfaced for air.

There are a lot of myths about werewolves. They aren't allergic to garlic (and neither are vampires, by the way) and they don't just change on the full moon. They are, however, susceptible to silver. A silver bullet to the heart is the only sure fire way to stop one. That sounds easy enough, but imagine shooting something the size of an apple while it's running 60 miles an hour at you.

Even though it was hot that night, we had to melt down enough silver to tip off a dozen bullets. Melting silver is harder than it sounds. While my brother can make regular bullets with a propane torch and my dad's molds, the silver ones are harder. Silver has a melting point of 1763º Fahrenheit, which is so hot it would melt my dad's molds. We had to drive to another hunter's house to use his equipment. My dad says the graphite molds are too expensive and too heavy to carry around. Werewolves are pretty rare so we need to save the space for other things.

We got to Tuskegee the next day and started investigating. Hunting monsters is more detective work than anything. They don't usually let you know where they've been hiding. My dad went off to speak with the local police, while my brother and I went to one of the coffee shops near the school. Sometimes local gossip is more useful than anything printed in the papers.

It never takes long for my brother to get local girls talking. Girls love my brother. He has this trick he does where he pretends to spill something and then apologizes, and before you know it he's sitting at a table full of giggling girls. They were more than happy to tell him about the murders. I don't know why everyone says girls don't like scary stuff. I think that's sexist. Most of them are thrilled to start talking about the grisly details if you let them.

The werewolf was pretty easy to find after that. Between the information my dad got from the police and the stories the girls were telling, we tracked him to an old barn just south of the campus. Old barns generally don't smell great, but this one was really disgusting. It probably didn't help that it was 100º out, even at eight in the morning.

The werewolf was asleep when we got inside. We almost snuck up on him, but my brother tripped over an old rake and woke him up. My dad was furious but he just charged ahead while I watched the door to make sure no one else showed up. My dad got two shots in, one in the shoulder and one in the stomach, but he couldn't make the kill shot. I was flipping the safety off my gun when I saw the werewolf lunge at my dad. He was mid-air, with his mouth open wide enough that I could see all his bloody fangs, when his chest exploded. My brother had shot him from behind and managed to hit his heart straight through. It was an incredible shot and I was really proud of my brother as the werewolf landed in a dead heap next to my father. My dad didn't say it, but I'm sure he was proud, too.

It was scary the first time I saw my dad kill a monster. I never thought I'd get over it, but my brother promised it would get easier. Now it's more like an unpleasant experience. The worst part with werewolves is that they just look like regular people after they get shot. It's hard to bundle them up and burn the body when they just look normal, even if you know they aren't.

We do a lot of hunting during the summer. Monsters are a lot like people – they tend to come out when it's warm. Sometimes my dad has a long list of hunts set up, and we just drive from town to town doing jobs. But this werewolf hunt had ended faster than my father expected, so we had a few days to spare while my dad looked through the papers for another hunt.

My dad has a hard time relaxing between jobs. He tries to take me and my brother to do things sometimes, but usually he's too distracted to have much fun. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was just the success of a good hunt, but that weekend in Tuskegee my dad managed to spend a whole day just doing tourist stuff with me and my brother.

My dad took us to the Tuskegee Airmen Museum, just like he'd promised. Normally, my brother makes a big stink about going to museums. It's not like we get to do it very often, but he always acts like it's torture. But even my brother couldn't act bored that day, not with all the amazing stories about the Airmen. My dad enjoyed it too. My dad fought in the Vietnam War, and even though he doesn't like talking about it, I know he's really proud to be a Marine. He even told us a few funny stories about basic training that made us all laugh.

After the museum we had dinner at a place called PB's Blues and Barbecue. My dad really liked the band and the food was really good. Then we drove for over an hour to see a movie at a drive-in. My brother loves going to drive-ins, and we don't get to do it very often. They were playing Independence Day, which made him even happier because he loves action movies. My dad said the movie was corny but I could tell he enjoyed himself.

We stopped at a drive-through on the way back and got the best milkshakes I've ever had. My brother likes to lay on the hood of our car and look up at the stars when it's clear out, and that night was perfect for it. My dad makes up the names of all the constellations, and I always try to keep a straight face as he comes up with more and more ridiculous ones. Eventually we finished our shakes and drove back to Tuskegee. When we got back to our motel that night, I almost felt like I was on a real summer vacation with my family.

 

“Awww, Sam, that’s kinda sad, actually. Your teacher must have been cool, though, to give you an A. And his little notes in the margins are kinda funny.”

 

It was Dean’s turn to uncover the treasure this time. It was just a thin, worn slip of paper, like it was a carbon copy pulled off something else. Once he realized what it was, he started laughing and literally could not stop, as much as he tried. He laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes before he finally handed the item over to his brother. “Sam, I’m telling you, Castiel is ridiculous. How could he possibly have gotten his hands on this? It doesn’t even have our real names!”

 

Jesus Christ. Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh, remembering the night they received this little gem. Their dad was off at a bar after a hunt in a little riverfront town in North Carolina. Sam and Dean took a ride down to the water, and of course ended up leaning against the Impala making out. It was just getting good, Sam’s back pressed against the driver’s side door and window while Dean reached into his baggy jeans to pull out Sam’s dick. He barely got three strokes in before they saw the blue flashing lights. It was a small town, rural, and they both got the idea that PDA between two dudes wasn’t something the local police officers were gonna appreciate. Luck was on their side, as the cop didn’t seem to want to string them up, and they both had their best fake IDs on them. Dean gave the cop his chastised and apologetic look, calling him ‘officer’ and ‘sir’, while Sam just leaned against the car with his eyes closed, mortified at having been caught, terrified that they’d get arrested and their dad…he didn’t get too far down that road, though, and straightened up when the policeman gave him back his ID and bought that he wasn’t underage, thank God. The guy just wrote them a public indecency citation, _this_ public indecency citation, with a court date written on it and let them be. The minute that cruiser pulled away, Dean balled up the ticket and threw it into the trash can on the nearby sidewalk. Sure, it kinda killed the mood for the night, but it could have been a whole lot worse.

 

The two of them just sat for a while, enjoying old memories – notes, postcards, a grocery store receipt from 1998 with a girl’s phone number scrawled on the back of it. It was nice, honestly. They never had a chance to keep much over the years, their lifestyle demanding they make do with the bare minimum. But now they had all this, tangible proof of some of their history together.

 

Putting everything back in the envelope, Dean steadied himself against the armrest of the couch and got up with a wince. “Can’t forget about the chili, Sam.”

 

“And the cornbread, too.”

 

“Yes, you big baby, cornbread too, I know you love it.”

 

“And I know you love me,” Sam responded in a sing-song voice, his tone light.

 

Dean stopped for a minute and just looked at his brother. “I do, Sam. I do love you, always did, even when it didn’t seem like it.”

 

That was enough to sober Sam up. “Forget about all that, man. Look where we ended up. We’re together, we’re happy, we’ve got friends, we’ve got _forever_ to be together the way we always wanted.” Standing up, he touched Dean’s cheek and said, “And you know I love you, too.”

 

Then they pulled out one of their oldest traditions. Didn’t matter which one said which part, it had been repeated so many times over the years.

 

“Love me forever?”

 

“’Course I will.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

“Say it?”

 

“I promise I’ll love you forever. Longer than forever.”

 

“Me too.”

 

THE END


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